Vile Contingencies
by Blue Sky Rage
Summary: We build golden stairs to an empty Heaven. The abyss of the world stares, and I stare back. Our existence is not made. There is no destiny. I was not born to murder. I was not born to go to Nam. We are what we are. I am the Queen. He was the Comedian.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: DISCLAIMER- I do not own Watchmen in any way, shape, or form.**

**This plot mostly follows the graphic novel, with little tid bits of the movie in it. The actors from the film are how I picture the characters to look like. Francise Jean Speziale/The Queen is my own creation.**

* * *

"Murder."

"What happened?"

"Thrown from apartment window."

My thumb glided across the smooth yellow surface. First tracing the iconic smile and then the bloodstain.

Murdered.

"Someone knows."

Still gazing at the pin, I whispered,  
"Take me to where you found this, Rorschach."

* * *

I was young. I was seventeen.

The mask fad was booming. All over there were people dressing up and taking the filth of society into their own barbaric hands. Maybe it was out of suburban boredom. Maybe it was out of the need to escape my home life. But I became one of these people. I ran away from my family. I lived on the rundown streets of ghetto New Jersey. I stole food to survive. I showered in homeless shelters to keep clean. In a garbage bag, I carried my only cherished items: my hero costume and its accessories. Back then it was just tight fitting black clothes with steel-toe boots, brass knuckles, and a hockey mask. On the back of my long sleeved shirt, a crown emblem blazed. I was the Queen of the streets.

I was young. I was hotheaded.

I worked, without pay, at a small boxing club. In exchange for menial labor, I received training. My boss, Joe, would train me everyday after my shift. He would give me home-cooked meals, helped me when I was too bruised to move, and showed me how to take medical care of my wounds. He was the only father figure I ever had. I was relentless in my training. I became the best out of the young kids at the club, able to beat any of them at a challenge. I brought what I learned to the streets. I stopped robbers, muggers, small gang fights. I even helped a kid escape a fire. I saw my alias in the papers. A tickle of pride set itself in my chest. I felt like somebody.

Not soon after the fire incident, I saw an ad. An ad for masked heroes. Captain Metropolis from the old Minutemen was forming a new alliance. I took a train to the city. I left Joe without a last word. I left my old streets. New ones waited for me.

What a joke the meeting was.

I was seventeen and I still was not the youngest one at attendance. That title belonged to Silk Spectre II. I stood next her, feeling like second-rate shit. I was a street urchin. My costume was cheap. I looked dirty. I had a bigger, more athletic build. She was petite and womanly. Her outfit accentuated her figure and made her look professional. They all looked professional, even the one named Rorschach.

Doctor Manhattan stood across the room. Apathetic. He would sneak glances at Silk Spectre. He seemed ominous to me. Something I could not understand. Was he a man? Was he God? Was he our own personal man-made God? His abilities were limitless. He could vaporize a person in a second. Us mortals in costumes were just pretenders compared to him.

Doctor Manhattan was the real thing.

Nite Owl II seemed the most sincere out of the group. He explained his and Rorschach's partnership and the headway they had taken against the gangs of the city. Ozymandius sat in a chair as everyone else stood. He came off as aloof and somewhat pompous. His costume irritated me. Very showy. Very gaudy.

Then there was the Comedian. He was reclined in a chair. Reading a newspaper while drinking from a flask. I was most curious about him. I read Hollis Mason's book. I was aware of the allegations against him. Could he really be that bad? He didn't seem that horrible of a person.

Captain Metropolis, that old cod, welcomed us all to the first meeting of the Crimebusters. It was short-lived. It was a joke, the meeting. Orchestrated straight into disaster by, none other than, the Comedian. Not too far into the meeting, he disrupted it by challenging Ozymandius.

"-I wonder who that would be? Got any ideas, Ozzy? I mean, you ARE the smartest guy in the world, right?" came his bitter, rhetorical questioning.

Captain Metropolis' shoulders slumped, his eyes cast down in defeat. Perhaps he was all ready use to his ex-comrade's disruptive and obnoxious antics. Soon, the Comedian was burning the plan chart.

"-then Ozzy here is gunna be the smartest man on the cinder."

Metropolis continued to whine over his display as the Comedian left. Soon, the others dispersed. I almost felt sorry for the old man as I turned away.

"Somebody has to do it, don't you see? Somebody has to save the world…" He called after us.

I continued walking towards the door.  
Outside it was cold. It was dark. My bag of clothes was where I left it.

"Hey."

I turn around and the young Silk Spectre is standing behind me.

"You don't happen to have a lighter do you?"

"No, sorry." Was my answer.

The Comedian comes from the darkness. He saunters over to the other girl. I back away. He holds her face, saying something to her as he inspects her features. She breaks away slightly to ask for a lighter. He holds it up to her. The Comedian almost seems tender. Suddenly, a car comes screeching to a halt. A red-haired lady barges out. She's screaming at the girl and the Comedian. Silk Spectre I. She steals away her daughter and they ride away together. The Comedian stands alone, just watching them leave him in the street.

I was strangely reminded of my childhood. When my dog defecated, I would have to pick it up and toss it into a small stream in the backyard. It made me wonder… Perhaps the Comedian knew exactly how discarded dog shit felt. Said man suddenly turned and stared at me. I stared daringly back. Stared back into something dark. He finally turned and walked away.

I thought about what he said at the meeting. Were we just kids in costumes? Accomplishing nothing? Absolutely nothing? I recalled Hollis' book. He said everything got dry and boring after all the masked villains left the game. Was that why it originally all started? Because some kids wanted to fight each other in costumes? I didn't want that. I didn't want that at all. I wanted to actually make a difference in this city. Give people hope. Show them that I, unlike their political leaders, have not forgotten them.

In the sky, I see a soft orange glow breaking through the peaking buildings. The darkness is turning an angry purple from smoke. I run towards the sound of sirens. I have not forgotten my people.

* * *

I didn't realize how lonely living in New York would be. In Jersey, I had Joe. In Jersey, I had the club. I had nothing in this city. Nothing but my nightly escapades. People like me, we're invisible to normal people. They refuse to look at me; afraid I might annoy them for spare change. My life is devoted to them. Yet they avoid me as if I had the plague. Maybe I do.

My meals were scarce. I no longer had the fortune of getting the occasional home-cooked meal from Joe. It was constant garbage scraps for me. Shelters inside the inner city were poorly funded. I was lucky to get any food from them. I was becoming emaciated. An abandoned dumpster became my home. The rats were beastly and the flies licked my young skin. I was getting sick.

I had a fever. My muscles ached and my bones screamed, but I still did my job. I caught a man sexually assaulting a woman outside of a seedy bar. She cried for him to stop. She cried for help. There were people standing. Watching. Doing absolutely nothing. I pulled him off.

_CLINK_

My brass enhanced punch collided with his jaw. Again, I drew my arm back.

_CLINK_

His nose broke. Blood flowed. My vision was spinning. I rammed him into the brick wall. Grating his face against the harsh surface. He slumped against it. Vision getting blurry. It was too hot. My face hurt. I threw a garbage can on top of him. Kicked him in the ribs with my steel-toed boots. Again. Again. He cried for me to stop. He cried for help. I kicked him in the face. Broke his cheek bone.

People were pulling me away from him.

I ripped their hands off of me and stumbled away. Down the corner, I throw up. My hockey mask traps the sick and it splashes against my burning face. I collapse to the ground. I shake. My body is cold. My face is scorching. There is a fog. I blink. I am alone. I blink. I am not alone.

There are two men above me.  
They look like an owl and an old fashioned mobster.

Darkness.

"Queen?"

Someone was sponging my forehead. I could feel the cool beads slip over my temples and under my ears. My eyelids were too heavy to lift. They called for me again. It's hard to hear. As if a thick glass separates the real world and me.

"Queen? Rorschach, can you get a glass of water?"

Soon after, I'm being pulled to sit up.

"Queen, you need to cool off. Drink this."

A glass touches my lips. I open my mouth and take sloppy sips. My cheeks feel like they have a heartbeat. More water is placed on my forehead. I start shaking.

"Jesus, she doesn't look good at all. She must have been living on the streets. Look at how thin she is… Doesn't smell that great either."

"Hurm. Show symptoms of flu. Need medicine."

"Check the cabinet. I think I have some flue medications in there."

I try to open my eyes again. My vision blurs and then slowly clears. Nite Owl is sitting next to me. Still in his dark uniform but his goggles have been removed. His attention is on the sponge in his hands as he dunks it into a pan of water. He sees me awake.

"Hey…" is his awkward introduction.

I simply stare lazily at him. My mouth feels too dry to talk. My lips feel like they're glued together. The sponge is placed on my forehead again. He dabs it on my cheeks and neck. A crease forms on his brow as he tends to me,

"You shouldn't have been going out and doing the superhero thing when you're sick with the flu, you know that? Oh, thanks, Rorschach." From out of my view he reaches for something.

"Here. Take these." He places tablets in my hand and patiently waits with another glass of water. I bring a shaking hand up to my lips, rip them open, and then pop the meds. Nite Owl gives me the water to wash it down. I murmur a thanks and try to sit up.

"Whoa-ho! You're not going anywhere. I can't let you go back out there." He pushes me back down on… What was I on? A couch.

I'm too exhausted to fight him. I feel as if my body hates me at this point.

"Heroes have to take care of one another, right?"

I close my eyes and turn my head away, irritated by his sentimentality.

"Don't have time to baby sit." I heard Rorschach's rough voice and then the receding echoes of his footsteps.

"Oh, well… I'll see you later then."

He made me stay with him in his home. The first few days were foggy. I was cold no matter how many blankets he would pile on me. Then my face would become too hot and uncomfortable and I'd have to remove all the blankets once again. He forced me to eat. I had forgotten what fresh food tasted like. It almost made me sick. I refused to leave the room he allowed me to stay in. I didn't want to get acquainted and accustomed to the rest of the house. Being able to shower everyday, being able to be warm at night made me scared. Shit, even having someone treat me like a human being felt weird. I planned to leave as soon as I could.

There was a knock on the door. Nite Owl, no… _Dan_, as he has been making me call him, came in with a tray of food. I return my visage to the window. Snow was floating softly outside. Sticking to the window until it melted and drifted downwards. Dan slowly takes a seat beside me on the bed.

"You know, I don't mind if you stay here. It really isn't a burden, if that's how you feel you are."

I didn't understand. He barely knew me, yet he took care of me. Fed me. Now he wants to house me. Not even Joe did all that for me. A bitter feeling crawled through my brain. I ignored Dan's existence and continued to look out the window.

"I could create a better uniform for you. I had to throw out your mask… I was able to wash off the throw up, but in the end, it still smelled bad. And the clothes you had were getting a bit torn up. So…"

I turn towards him, lifting a brow. Why did he want me to stay with him? I looked into his eyes. Questioning. Maybe he was simply lonely, I realize. The only person I've seen him around was Rorschach, and he doesn't provide very good companionship. My bitterness ebbs away and I feel somewhat sorry for the older man. The only friends he had were freaks in costumes.

"That'd be… nice." I decide is the right thing to say. Dan smiles at me and I truly notice how nerdy the man who dresses up as the Nite Owl is.

I smile back.

"Well, do you have a name besides Queen?" my smile drops.

I hated my name. I loathed anything that reminded me of my mother. It wasn't even a nice sounding name. Francis Jean Speziale. Sounded like a name that would belong to a librarian, or a person who worked in a cubicle.

"Just call me Q." I nod to myself.

"Alright, Q." he takes off his glasses to wipe them clean. "Just give me a few days to make your uniform-" he places his glasses back on. "-then we get to see some action on the streets."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: DISCLAIMER- I do not own Watchmen in any way, shape, or form. Francise Jean Speziale/The Queen is my own creation.**

**One of the lines in this chapter tickles me silly for its irony.  
Five points if anyone can eventually guess which line.**

* * *

There was still blood and shattered glass on the sidewalk. I had to crane my neck to look up at the building. I could see the open window. It was a blemish on the perfect sleekness of the metropolitan building. I turn to see Rorschach pulling out his gas-powered grapple. I do the same, stole it from Dan's basement years ago. Soon we're soaring up to the broken window, slipping inside the darkness of the apartment. Rorschach produces a flashlight from his coat. The flush of light stutters and blinks before becoming steady enough to light the room. Tables are broken. Books are on the floor. Broken glass. Blood. Without the chaos, it looks like it could have been an average apartment. Belonging to a simple, average bachelor.

I walk around the mess. Rorschach follows close behind. I see an old poster of Silk Spectre I lying ruined on the floor. She was smiling up at me. A grave feeling begins to bubble in my stomach. I turn away from the old picture. Rorschach strides passed, leading me into the bedroom.

I silently watch him as he opens the closet door and presses a small red button in the back. The wall suddenly turns, and I become pale at what I see.

"The Comedian's outfit. Found it when I was here alone."

There it was. The leather. The red, white, and blue. Even his mask and gun with the smiley face sticker. I suddenly feel it hit me. Perhaps I was wishing that it were a lie. The Comedian can't be dead. How can he be? Who the _fuck_ can kill the Comedian?

* * *

Dan completed my new uniform in no time. It was made of some kind of flexible fabric. I had no clue what it was. All I knew was that it was easy to move in, easy to fight in. It stuck to my original outfit idea. Tight fitting black long-sleeve top, small black shorts, and thick boots. Steel plates were added to the heel for back kicks. He made me knew knuckles, this time they were attached to my uniform. Less time worrying about them slipping off. Instead of a hockey mask, I had a simple mask to just go over my eyes. Much like the Comedian's and Ozymandius'. The crown emblem still blazed on my back. A sticker was added to both of my boots. Dan even engraved crowns into my new brass knuckles. I was quivering with excitement when I wore it. Every minuscule detail encased in my memory.

In the streets, it was the Nite Owl, Rorschach, Silk Spectre, and myself. Every once in awhile the Comedian or Ozymandius would show up. But not often. The four of us made a team. We busted drug peddlers, prostitution businesses, underground gambling, child pornography rigs. Though I generally liked going out with Nite Owl than the others. He was the easiest to get along with. Silk Spectre always made me question her reasons behind being a vigilante. Was she just doing it because her mom wanted her to? I didn't know, and for the most part, I didn't really care.

Rorschach. What was there to say about him? Admirable as a hero, detestable as a man. He was the type who didn't believe in the publicity of being a masked vigilante. Unlike Dollar Bill. Unlike Silk Spectre I. Unlike Ozymandius. Completely selfless. Rorschach believed in true justice.

But. He assumed the role of Judge, Jury, and Executioner for all lawbreakers. He eats, sleeps, and shits his warped psychoanalysis of the world. He never really liked me. He really never liked any us. Except, of course, Dan and strangely… the Comedian. We worked quietly together, and then at the end of the night we would, just as silently, part ways.

The Comedian. Another one I disliked working with. Unlike the others, he didn't revel in destroying the wicked and upholding justice. He reveled in carnage. The only part of the escapades he enjoyed was when we were hurting people. It was frightening to be around him at those times. I didn't like him, but I constantly pondered about him. There was a dark complexity to his human nature. The others… they lived behind their masks. They only felt themselves when wearing masks. Even I felt this. It made us weak, in a sense. The Comedian did not hide behind his mask. He submitted to the violent and carnal impulses that exist inside all people. But because of society, we repress these impulses. Bury them. Hide them. The Comedian just didn't care. He was without shame. Without remorse. He already knew he was vile.

I don't think the others understood his joke. For a long while, I didn't either. The Comedian isn't very funny, I would state with a sour taste in my mouth. No, I finally realized it one night.

"Well, well, well… What do we have here?"

I was out alone this time. The others were stalking the other side of the city. After hearing about some suspicious gang meetings going on, I decided to slink around the docks to see if I could pick up on anything. I was looking at the side of a warehouse. Spray painted across it was, 'WHO WATCHES THE WATCHM-" and then it stopped. As I pondered the message, the low voice crept behind me. The smell of smoke tickled my nose. All ready knowing who it was, I turned around to see the Comedian. He carried a sawed off shotgun in one hand and a cigar in the other.

"Haven't seen you around town in awhile, doll face."

"I don't hang around in the same dirtholes as you, Eddie…"

He laughed at me. Of course I was a joke to him. "What do you want?"

Walking over to me, he pushed a cloud of smoke into my face. His brown eyes dragged over my features. A cheeky grin appeared on his face. "You've been looking pretty as a peach lately. Better than that _sewer rat_ you were when I first saw you." He held his cigar between his teeth as he grasped my chin. I frowned up at him, "Yup. _Bird Boy's_ been takin' pretty good care of you, I suppose." He chuckled through his cigar.

I stepped away from him. "Not in the way you think." I muttered before starting to walk away. The Comedian caught up with me.

"Why the pouty mood, doll face?"

"Not a doll face."

"Why the pouty mood, sweetheart?"

I pushed him into a dark space between two abandoned buildings. When I squeezed in there with him, he lightly touched my shoulders. "Taking advantage of me?" He chuckled. I slapped his hands away, careful not to burn myself with his cigar.

"I'm trying to get some actual patrolling done. You're just screwing everything up."

The Comedian outright laughed in my face.

"Aw, shit, Q. You actually believe in that crap?"

"What are you talking about?"

The Comedian stepped closer. I could feel the heat from his body. He leaned over and whispered in my ear.

"All you kids want to do is make a difference. When in reality, there is _no_ difference to make. You think you're actually cleaning up the _shit smear_ that is New York City? Think again, doll face. The real horror and evil in this world is vast and overpowering. It's _everywhere_. Do you think running around at night in a fancy costume and beating up hoodlums is going to turn everything into rainbows and sugarcakes? No matter what you do, we're all gunna be _dead_ in a few years. The button is waiting to get pushed, doll face, and I'm not gunna dawdle around. There is _no_ difference to make."

I stood silent. What was there to say to that? All my wants and dreams ultimately meant nothing. How does a person live with this type of mentality?

"But…" the Comedian put out his cigar. "-_we_ could have some fun before the clock strikes twelve." He gently kissed my neck and under my ear, his hands planted on my hips. My skin crawled. I felt disgusted by him. He just crushed my spirit and now he wants me to fuck him. I pushed him away.

"You nihilist asshole! Who do you think you are?" I angrily shoved his chest.

"Aw, come on, Q." his body language showed his irritation. "If you want to waste your god damned time on these worthless people, then go ahead. They won't thank you. They won't remember you. They don't _care_, you get it? Why live by their standards? Hell, the world is about to blow and all you want to do is follow the rules. _Me_? Well, I'm gunna do whatever the hell I want. And if my fun is at the expense of others, who will honestly give a _shit_ at the end of time?"

Things suddenly became clear to me. His smiley pin staring back at me as it all rushed in. No matter what we do, it will never be enough. The Comedian was right. If we eradicated all the filth on the streets, it would still never be enough. Because there was the Comedian. There was the punch line. There was the joke. It was him. It was him all along. We were supposed to be saving this world. Destroying the corrupt and unjust. And there was the Comedian standing right beside us. Mocking. Laughing. Insulting. A villain amongst heroes.

"A wolf in sheep's clothing." I whispered.

To my surprise, the Comedian laughed. His dimples deepened in his mirth. I hated it. I didn't want him to laugh. I wanted him to feel miserable. He was ruining things simply because he was an asshole and he wanted to. I clenched my fist and then punched the side of the building, causing an impressive dent in the metal. "Why the hell do you even want to be a mask anyway?" I spat.

The Comedian whistled as he looked at my damage. When I grunted he leaned back towards me and answered in a gruff voice, "Because I can." He laughed. Abruptly, he pushed me so we were out in the open once more. He rested his shotgun on his shoulder as he placed a hand on his leather-clad hip. "War's comin', you know." He stated with a smirk. He was referring to the USA's involvement with Vietnam. I thought about it with a dour expression, "What about it?" I muttered.

"I'm gunna be the first one out there. Kill me some Charlie's. The government has been requesting other masks to join in the fight." He nodded to me. I was appalled. I'd never be used as a simple tool to be tossed around by the government.

"I think I'll pass…"

"Heh, suit yourself, Q." he shrugged. "You should get off that _high horse_ of yours. If you think anyone on this fuckin' costumed Kid's League is _perfect_, well then you're delusional."

I bit the inside of my cheek.

"I may be a wolf in sheep's clothing, but you're all as much of a villain as I am."

He stared at me again and I was reminded of that first stare. When he was standing in the street after being tossed aside by the Silk Spectres. It was dark. Deadening. Not the least bit comical. There was something there I could never grasp. Totally beyond me. This time, I couldn't hold the intensity. I looked away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." He scoffed.

He turned and left me by the docks. With the conversation still swarming through my skull, I simply stood there. I looked around me and listened to the dead silence that clung to the environment. I decided to go home. There would be more gangs to bust tomorrow.

* * *

The streets of the city were filled with fear and uncertainty. People carefully read their papers, turned the news on every night to hang off every word. The young generation gave a moan of injustice and fear as the draft was put in effect. Boys left their homes, their mothers. They shaved their heads, strapped up their boots, and slung on their packs. They left for Vietnam. To die. Realizing this, many boys resorted to abandoning the US. They ran for Canada to hide and live in shame. From their families, their friends, themselves.

The situation was grave. The news counted the increasing death rate every day. People were suffering, and we could do nothing about it. Weren't we supposed to be protecting them? Dan clicked his tongue and shook his head at the television.

"And all they have is the Comedian to guard their poor asses. Lord help them." He changed the channel.

I pursed my lips in thought. Nonchalantly I rested my chin on my knuckle. Still looking at the television I suggest, "Maybe we should go out there, Dan. Have the entire team go over and help them." I turn to him.

Dan stared at me with his mouth open. He finally made a nervous chuckle. "Oh, well –uh-" he pushed up his glasses.

"I don't think guns and jungles are really Rorschach's spiel. He's more of a detective, you know. I'm pretty certain Ozymandius wouldn't be very keen either. As for me, well –uh- I wouldn't last too long in war, let's put it that way. I lack the steel guts for it." He laughs.

But what about those boys who didn't have steel guts, but were forced to go? Or the ones who knew they wouldn't last too long in war either? They still had to go. What made us so special? Why were we exempt from this? It didn't seem right.

"And-" Dan slapped his knee.

"Just imagine you and Laurie out in those fields or living in foxholes. It's sort of ridiculous, Q, _really_." He joked.

My pale cheeks burned hot. I left Dan to be in my room alone. Three days later, I was signed up. I was required to tell them my real name to allow background checkup. I passed. They bended the rules for me since I was a superhero. They overlooked the fact that I was a girl. They needed as much support as possible. I took photo sessions with the Comedian. Our posters and pictures were everywhere. My fake, smiling face stared up at me from newspapers. We were replacing the old Uncle Sam.

We want YOU to join the Armed Forces!

Selling out to this degree caused me shame. I felt like a hypocrite. My embarrassment grew as the Comedian would give me his smug grin. When told I was able to wear my uniform like how the Comedian decided to wear his, I declined. I chose to wear the same clothes and tags as the other boys sent to war. I strapped up my boots, and I slung on my pack. I left for Vietnam.

I wish I never did.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: DISCLAIMER- I do not own Watchmen in any way, shape, or form. Francise Jean Speziale/The Queen is my own creation.**

**I thank you for the reviews!**

**

* * *

**

"Someone knows." Rorschach spoke to me.

Knows what? I ask as I take a step closer to the Comedian's old uniform. There were framed newspaper clippings. All of him. I lean in closer to a picture of him in Vietnam. He looked younger than how I remembered. He was holding his beloved flamethrower with a cigar in his mouth. The picture caught him perfectly as he looked towards the photographer and smiled. Behind him, in the fields, I saw a familiar figure.

It was me. Stalking through the fields, holding my rifle as I looked into the distance. I was oblivious to the fact that a picture was being taken. My hair was butchered and cut short. I, too, looked younger than how I remembered. I had felt so old while wandering through that country.

Rorschach told me of his hypothesis. Someone was killing masked heroes. He all ready told Dan. The old Nite Owl simply dismissed the idea.

"Something out of place with Blake's death. Something not right. Need to find out his murderer."

He was right. No ordinary man could kill the Comedian. But where would we go? Where would we start? Rorschach suggested Happy Harry's, one of the few retched bars in the city.

"And do what there? Twist some arms 'til we get answers?" I muttered. "None of those drunks down at Harry's would know a thing..." I trailed off.

I've seen the bastard punch through brick. Kill people with his bare hands. No gang member or common man with a vendetta would be able to overpower him and then proceed to toss him out a window. What if it was one of his old masked enemies? The possibility was slim... They would all be old characters by now.

I look again at the Vietnam picture. It was before he got his scar. He had been so handsome.

"Need to warn the others. Need to find out who killed Blake. Attack on one of us is an attack on all of us."

And there it was. The real reason behind the detective work. Not because that Blake was dead, but because of what his death _implied_. Rorschach was keeping an eye out to protect himself. Rightfully, he should. The masked bastard was one of the most wanted men in the city. All the people Blake knew... Presidents, Vice-Presidents, Dictators, famous Vigilanties... Not one of them cared. Not one of them will bat an eye at the news of his death. No one will cry. Not even the only woman he ever loved... or his daughter. Recognition.

I owed him. I owed him punishment for his murder.

"Have to reach Jon and Miss Juspeczyk."

I gave one last stare at the picture of Vietnam. Everything had been so fast, too surreal to believe that it was anything but a terrible dream. But I knew it wasn't a nightmare. I have the dog tags. I have the boys faces in my mind. I have the blood under my fingernails.

I blink and I could almost smell the fungus and decay again. I could almost hear the gunshots and screaming. I quickly turned away to shut it out.

* * *

The company I was in was just a bunch of rowdy boys, hiding their fear with raunchy jokes and black humor. When the Comedian stepped off the helicopter, I knew he would fit right in. Right off the bat there was trouble. Of course there was. I was a girl in war. They constantly catcalled me, making me feel even more uncomfortable under the dying humidity of Vietnam. Even the Comedian took shit.

"The Queen, huh? So what does that make you, big guy? Her Jester? Maybe you should change your name to the Joker!" a loud obnoxious laugh rang.

The Comedian took the butt of his gun and shattered the boy's nose. He was taken back by the helicopter and rejoined the company a few days later with a lot of gauze taped to his face. After this, nobody made fun of the Comedian. He earned a silent respect from the company because of his indifferent battery to the soldier's face. Boys confused me.

"What kind of name is the Joker?" The Comedian had asked me.

Being in Vietnam, a person could die of boredom. It was walking, walking, and more walking. Lying on your belly. Then walking, walking, and more walking. I didn't know what to expect while stumbling blindly into this. What do you expect from war, really? I had no clue. As I would swat away the disease-ridden mosquitoes away from my face, I groaned at my stupidity for coming here. _Why_ was I here? Because of my strict belief in fairness, I suppose. But why was I the only one? Thinking about Dan in his comfortable bed, and cruising around in his Owl Ship to prey on bad guys caused jealousy and bitterness to curl in my stomach like a thick vomit. All I had was a dirt hole, a gun, and a Comedian.

My long curly-mane of black hair was starting to become a problem. I would often get tangled in a bush or tree branch. Bugs made homes out of it. The heat caused my mass of hair to suffocate me. One night, in my foxhole, I cut it all off with my switchblade.

The next morning, the Comedian and company called me a lesbian. I sneered at them and continued humping along the path as they barked with laughter behind me. Not everything was chaos and blood. Certain things felt eerily normal. Like playing cards or chess together at night. Jumping around the trees during the rain. Looking up at the dark, clear sky and naming the star constellations. But it all held a unsettling undercurrent. We held our guns in our sleep. Played hot potato with smoke grenades. Popped tranquilizers and smoked dope to calm our nerves. It simply wasn't right.

As a girl, I had more problems than others. I didn't realize this until I had an aggravated assault from one of the boys. I was sleeping in my foxhole when he pushed on top of me and began tugging at my clothes. I struggled against him, punched him in the sides and face. I couldn't get the right leverage to push him off. He was pulling my shirt. My heart was thumping in my throat, ready to slip up and off my tongue. There was the sound of a heavy thump and the boy suddenly collapsed on me. I looked up to see the Comedian with his gun in hand. He ripped the boy off of me and, later, had him switched to a different company. From then on, the Comedian slept in the same foxhole as me. Or, if the weather forced us to, sleep under a tent. It was odd and discomforting that he was the only one I could rely on in this country.

What a mad, mad world.

* * *

There were little kids running towards us. It was the first village we stumbled into. The mood was light. The kids were smiling, wishing to spend some time around us. The men were shaking hands with them. Some of them decided to share their candy bars, M&M's, and Juicy Fruit with the younger ones. Kopper, one of the grunts, even pulled out his prized baseball cards to show off. Murphy the Machine Gunner, who would carry around 10 to 15 pounds of ammunition strapped to his chest, stood off to the side, refusing to acknowledge the kids. A lot of them were around the Comedian, his costume making him look more impressive and interesting than the average soldier. He gives one of them a spare smiley face badge of his. He tried asking them if they had any older sisters. I bit back a snicker at the confused faces the kids had.

Hudson the Medic beamed as he watched the others. His thick glasses remind me all too much of Dan. His wide, goofy smile is contagious. I smile back at him. "Aw, well _shit_, Q. Look at this guy!" Hudson exclaimed with a jolly laugh as one the children raised their arms for a hug. Hudson bended over and-

_BOOM_

Hudson and the kid blew up. We were covered in their blood. Hudson's helmet rolled to the side. Inside were charred brain and fragments of skull. Clothing, fingers, flesh, and organs were burning on the ground. It was that fast. That sudden. Boom! Dead. There were screams of horror.

"THE KIDS ARE STRAPPED WITH BOMBS!"

The company opened fire. In the panic, I grip my gun and nearly pull the trigger. But I see the children's' faces. I halt. I scream for the others to stop but they don't. They're too scared. Even The Comedian is shooting at the kids. They're dropping like flies. Their young blood spraying out and drenching the dirt. The gunfire suddenly stops. Just as fast and sudden as Hudson died. I look at the Comedian; his eyes are wide with alert as he stares into the carnage.

"Jesus Christ." He breathes.

The Comedian slowly walks over the bodies, inspecting them. His gun falls to his side. "None of the others were strapped…" he falls silent. I look at the bodies, littering the ground in unnatural positions. Skulls blown open, jaws shot off, chests leaking, abdomens with holes. I'm breathing heavily. I can smell their stink and blood. The soon-to-be rotten bodies. I feel sick.

Behind me, I hear Murphy whispering...

"No, man. Not Hudson, not Hudson…"

I suddenly remember how they would sit back to back all the time. Play chess with each other. Show each other pictures of their girlfriends and whisper their thoughts to each other at night.

His best friend was dead.

Murphy stepped forward and stopped at the nearest dead body. I can almost hear something ticking inside of him. Tick-tock tick-tock, and then an evil silence. He squeezes his gun and starts shooting point blank into the kid.

"I hate this fucking country. I fucking hate it." Came his somber voice over the gunfire.

With each shot, the small body jerked upwards. He shoots it in the chest, the belly. The body slowly became disemboweled from all the gunshot wounds. Intestines, liver, and stomach swim around inside the body before leaking out. Blood spurted onto the young man's boots. He continues shooting until his clip ends. He breathes heavily as sweat and snot drip onto his lip. He kicks the dead body in the face before walking away. The company gathers around him. Consoling, trying to tell jokes. Kopper is complaining about the blood on his cards.

The Comedian watches this all with a grim face. Looking down, he bends over to pick up the smiley face he handed out. Coolly, he wipes the blood off on his pants. I'm shaking. My muscles still pulled taut and surging with adrenaline. The Comedian walks passed me, but stops when we are shoulder to shoulder. "It's a lot different than wearing latex and busting some perv with pornography, isn't it?"

I look at the dead children. At the massacre. Stunned at the thought that someone used a child to attack US soldiers. I remember how only a few days ago I was complaining about how irritating the mosquitoes were. I am too shocked, too overwhelmed to feel anything. The only thing that comes passed my lips is,

"Holy shit…" with quivering hands still holding my gun.

"Let's go. Burn down the village, boys." Eddie orders.

The boys shout with approval. They're going to obtain their sick justice and revenge. I lag behind. In the red dirt, I see Hudson's dog tags. I grab them, wear it around my neck with my own, and turn to follow the others.

* * *

I stared into its large, sad brown eyes. Its mind was quiet. It was no longer afraid, only miserable. Miserable of its scorched dead and barren homeland. Miserable of the lack of food and water and of the stink from rotting death and humidity. It missed the comfort of an easy life. It was me. A scream of gunfire erupted. Natural instinct was to fall to my belly. A wail pieced through the sticky, thick air. It rattled my bones and quickened my heartbeat. I looked up at the horse as bullets pierced through it. The bullets collided with its tough skin causing its old muscles to ripple from the impact. It didn't try to run away or save itself. It was shot in the kneecap. It struggled to stand. Its ear was shot off. Chunks of its rear. Chunks of its stomach. Pieces of flesh and blood flying carelessly into the air. It was being shot at to cause pain, not death. The firing ceased, and the horse collapsed in a loud thud. I stared in shock. There was silence, and then there was laughter.

I pushed up and ran to the horse; fell to my knees before it. Blood leaked from its mouth. It struggled to breathe through its nose. A crimson bubble grew from its large nostril. I watched as it popped and splashed blood on its dark lips. Its large eye looked up to me, pleadingly. I cradled its massive head as it died. Stroked its forehead in the most calming way I could. Tears leaked down my cheeks, cleaning away the previous grime. I looked over my shoulder, my mouth pulled in a snarl. Murphy, who hadn't been the same since Hudson blew like a volcano, was howling with laughter. His M-60 still smoking.

"Jesus Christ, look at the sweet girl. Cryin' over her pony." He jested.

I left the horse and charged at him. My legs alive with energy, my body felt light and fast and murderous. I jumped at him. The Comedian caught me around the middle at the last second. I was running fast enough that when his thick arms caught me mid-air, the wind was knocked out of me. Murphy looked startled at my manic attempts to reach him. I hated him. I wanted to cause him pain for destroying one of the few beautiful things found in this hell country. I wanted to choke him until his lips turned an angry blue.

"Let it go, Q." Eddie calmed me. I stilled my movements but was still held close by Eddie.

"Alright, boys. Cut it up. Bring it to the well." He ordered.

Like stupid sheep, they walked over to the horse. They pulled out their knives. I began struggling against Eddie again. I clawed and pulled at his arms.

"W-Wait! What are you-"

They started cutting it apart into large chunks. I nearly turned away, too horrified to witness it. But Eddie held me forward, forcing me to watch. They were cutting its head off. Slicing through the pink muscle, the stringy tendons. When they hit a blood vessel, the hot liquid spurted like a fountain before dying. They were arguing over who got to cut off the horse's dick. I breathed heavily against Eddie, feeling sick.

"When human beings are involved, nothing can be trusted… Not even animals."

I didn't understand. It was just a horse. Just a stupid fucking horse doing nothing to anyone! They carried the pieces to a nearby well. Dumped the mangled mess inside and listened to it splash. They wanted to poison the village water supply. Leave none alive. Eddie stood beside me as I looked down the well.

"Who can you trust?" I asked in a defeated tone.

Eddie took his time giving an answer. He pulled on his cigar. Slung his large arm around my shoulders. "No one but _yourself_." He gave me a squeeze.

"And sometimes… Not even that." He walked away to the company.

I looked inside that horse and saw myself. They tortured it, let it die slowly, carved it up, and then dumped it into a stinking well. Left to rot in Vietnam. I stared into the black abyss. A single glistening eye stared up at me. Left to rot in Vietnam.

* * *

The longer we were in this country, the more insane and horrible things seemed to become. I felt common emotions ebb away from me. Day after day after day, I began to drift. Sometimes it felt like I had no brain. I was simply muscle and bones walking and walking and walking. Our boots became tinged red from blood and dust. There was disease around me. Lice too.

Sometimes the boys would cry at night when they thought no one could hear. They would cry for their friends. Cry for their families. Cry for their sweethearts back home. Cry for their expendable lives. Cry for their heroin.

I saw dead bodies with flies and maggots swarming in their mouths. I would walk by as if it were a common occurrence. I saw a kid wearing a necklace made of burned fingers, noses, and ears. Boys got caught by Toe Poppers and would get their legs blown off. Get shot by a sniper, get caught in a crossfire. Accidentally trip on a field mine and would decorate the jungle with their organs.

I now wore two other dog tags with my own and Hudson's. I had Kopper's, who was shot in the back of the head. There was a dark cave where his face should have been. The other boys took his baseball cards for safekeeping. I also had the tags of another grunt soldier. Bouton had been the youngest of the group, only being 19 years old. In the jungle, he tripped on a mine. His foot and shin were completely gone. The boy stumbled around for a bit, hopping on one leg and gripping his knee in pain. He tripped another mine. Simply blew himself the fuck up. I found his tags hanging off a nearby branch.

The Comedian and the boys would still laugh and joke as I sat off to the side. I didn't have it in me to laugh at dead kids.

"You've been awfully quiet, doll face."

It was raining hard tonight. Eddie and I made our makeshift tent and rested inside together. It was difficult to sleep. I was on my side, cradling my gun to my chest as I faced left side of the tent. Eddie was on his back, using his own gun as an awkward pillow. Like always, I had been trying to empty my mind of all thoughts. Nowadays, it was difficult to do so. Sleeping was becoming a chore. I blink and flex my grip on the rifle.

"What do you want me to say?"

Eddie sighs heavily because he knows there is nothing to really talk about. He rolls over and I can feel him looming over me. "We get those shipment of flamethrowers tomorrow." He chuckles. I turn slightly to look up at his smirking face. His eyes are dark, shimmering pools. I lift a brow at him, showing how much I give a crap about flamethrowers. "You should let your hair grow again, Q." I turn fully now so that I'm on my back. Eddie scoots closer to me, propped up by his arm. I keep my eyes on the green tarp 'ceiling', listening to the heavy rain assaulting the fabric.

"Maybe when we get back home." I murmur.

He rubs his hand through my cropped, boyish hair. I close my eyes at the caress of his leather glove and the pressure of his naked fingers. "Well, you _should_."

Home. Would I even make it back home? I think about Dan, Rorschach, and Laurie as Eddie places a soft kiss on my temple. I think about dressing up as the Queen and running through the streets. Beating up bad guys. Laughing and riding through the night in the Owl Ship. Eddie kisses me on the lips and I kiss back. His mustache scratches me. The suits, the fancy equipment, the childish escapades. It all seems pointless from out here. Out here in Vietnam. Eddie and I start removing our clothes. New York City felt like so long ago. Was it wrong for me to say that all this had become normal? The boys getting blown up, the dead village kids, the smell of napalm and fire? I wince as Eddie spears me.

The past appears less vibrant than it once did. I look back at myself and see how truly childish I was. Eddie's above me, holding me close. I move against him. How simple my principles and fantasies were compared to the complex world around me. I arch my back and Eddie gives a shudder. I was blissfully unaware to the complexity, which truly showed how innocent and young I had been. Was there even a 'going back' to all of that? I open my eyes. Eddie is looking down at me intently, his mouth slightly open. Times were changing. We were changing. I was changing. I lift up and suck on the hallow of his neck, tasting his sweat. His muscles tighten.

No. There is no going back.

Eddie moans and I whisper his name against his skin.

* * *

The burning village caused a black cancerous cloud to build and creep up to the heavens. My eyes, which have not closed for sleep in three days, never leave the murderous, dark clouds churning in the sunlight. We shot their livestock, burned their farms, strapped bombs to their dogs and babies. The villagers refused to run away. Maybe they believed if they didn't run, they wouldn't get shot at. We threw grenades into their homes. Some of the others, we simply torched with the villagers inside.

I sit consumed with apathy in the back of the truck as we leave destruction in our wake. I see some of the villagers running on the dirt road. Naked and screaming. Crying for help. Most of them were children. Possibly saved by their parents from the fire. I watch them, my heavy eyelids blinking slowly, languidly.

"Pigs for the slaughter!" Murphy howls.

He suddenly hangs off the side of the truck, M-79 grenade launcher in hand. He begins firing at them. The children wail and scream in confusion and terror. They are being blown away. They are watching their friends lift up into the air and be blown away into a bloody mess. James laughs at their grief, at their short pointless lives. The red, ugly smear they leave on the road of our memories. He laughs. I stand, slowly step behind him. Pointless lives, I think to myself. I take his pistol from its holster, and while he's still laughing, I shoot him in the back of the head. His brain and cheekbone scatter out and get lost in the dust. I can faintly hear Eddie calling my name. Languorous and still on autopilot, I kick Murphy's body off the back of the truck. It thumps and rolls before resting in an awkward angle. A man lying with the children he murdered. I toss his gun off the side. The men are silent behind me. Unsure of what to do or say.

I stand, watching the diminishing forms of the dead children and the monster fire. I wish to be with them. I wish to fall and scream and to no longer exist. I'm no longer sick of this war. Just tired. So unbearably tired. The truck hits a bump. I trip and nearly fall off. A hand catches my arm. Eddie pulls me away from the edge of the truck. He sits me down, resting against his chest and between his legs. My body is unresisting. I felt blank. I felt numb. Only a static of thoughts in my mind.

A dirty handkerchief is veiled over my eyes, blocking the raging sun. "Sleep a bit, Q." I lie limp against him. I just didn't care anymore. I just… wanted to _go home_.

"James Anthony Murphy was shot by a Charlie sniper. Everyone got that?" I hear a collected murmur of '_yes, sir_'.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: DISCLAIMER- I do not own Watchmen in any way, shape, or form. Francise Jean Speziale/The Queen is my own creation.**

**Thank you, once again for the reviews. I sometimes have faint doubts about the fic, so it's nice to hear that I'm on the right track.**

* * *

We're in the bar. Rorschach had commented that there would be no harm in at least _trying_ Harry's. He is breaking a man's fingers, demanding answers. But as I expected, no one knows. They beg us to leave. I walk in quiet contemplation. As we head to the government base, my mind is far away. Rorschach matches my pace, his shorter legs taking larger strides.

"You're distracted."

I remain silent. After all, it was an observation, not a question. "You were a friend of Blake's, am I correct?" the idea is comically bitter. A slight smirk pulls on my lips at the truth.

"The Comedian didn't seek friendship, thus he _had_ no friends." Comes my flat voice.

"Still _close_. Worked together. Were in Vietnam together."

I halt behind Rorschach as he begins to cut away at the metal fence. Beyond us is the military base. Inside… is God. Rorschach turns, the black mass on his face swirls as he looks up at me.

"He was a good man. Fought for and protected his country." Then he slips through the fence. I follow behind. I take Rorschach's consolation for what it is, but it hardly seems to mean anything. The Comedian wasn't a 'good man'. Even the blind and the dumb could realize that.

I am behind Rorschach as he climbs the side of a building. We swing ourselves over the ledge and stand on the roof. Without hesitation, Rorschach runs and jumps, landing on the roof of a nearby building. With hesitation, I finally do the same.

_Close_. The word made me feel uncomfortable. It wasn't the _right_ word to describe us. Its usage was grossly inappropriate. Then, what _was_ the right word? Maybe in the past I would have answered: "Understanding." An incredibly naïve answer, but there it was. I understood him because I was next to him through it all… Until the end that is… We both stood facing the ugly growl of war. We reacted in different ways, but it all somehow meant the same.

I have to laugh because even this word, 'understanding', is inappropriate. I _thought_ I understood him, but I was wrong. Of course I was wrong. I don't think anyone could fully understand who the Comedian was. Not even himself.

* * *

Eddie can see that I'm not sleeping. He says I look sick. I haven't been acting right in the head, he tells me. I'm a danger to the men.

That night, I leave the foxhole. In my hands, I have enough tranquilizers to off myself. I stand still in the darkness, death in my palm. I feel the trembling and pulsating country of Vietnam around me. I think about the village kids, the women, the men I've killed. How nothing in my life will ever change the fact that I murdered these people without reason. They were just… _in the way.._. and I took their lives.

I think about Murphy, who was supposed to be my fellow soldier, and I coldly murdered him as well. Everything was backwards. What was right or wrong? The US soldier shooting kids for fun? Was _he_ right?

Or the US soldier who decides his life is meaningless, shoots him in the back of the head, and dumps his body into the road to be eaten by birds? Was _I_ wrong? I didn't _know_ anymore. Nothing was black and white. Everything crusted together in a knot. Grays. What was good and what was bad? Why can't I tell the _difference_? Individually, I start slipping the tablets into my mouth.

"What are you up to, Q?"

It's Eddie. Behind me. I pop a few more pills before quickly shoving the rest back into my pouch. I turn around to face him. His hands are on his hips, squinting at me suspiciously. I avoid my gaze from his eyes. I all ready know that _he_ knows. For some reason, Eddie always knows what I'm thinking, can always tell what I'm _planning_. It's discomforting to feel as though you're so predictable.

The tranquilizers are fast. I can feel the heaviness course through my body. Pity I wasn't able to take enough to end my life. We head back towards our hole.

"You're driftin' away, you know that?"

I look at him and he starts shaking his head, "Quit doin' that eyebrow thing. You know it ticks me the hell off." I give him a lazy, drug-addled smile. We approach the foxhole. I slip in first and then Eddie comes in after me. We rest against each other, like how we usually do. Not for emotional comfort, but for physical. A warm body is better to sleep on than dirt. Eddie absentmindedly runs his fingers up and down my arm. My head lolls to the side.

My eyelids feel like they're being kept closed by magnets. The darkness behind them makes me feel like I'm spinning and being tugged softly into the air. Riding on clouds. Weightless. Calm. I'm outside of my human body. Eddie's lips push against mine. I don't respond. I can't. I feel like a heavy anvil in the sky but I can't come back down. I'm being tugged at the feet. Ready to drown in an ocean. In the back of my mind, I register that he's kissing me harder. Impatient with my lack of awareness to his needs. But it's all very distant. I'm becoming wrapped in a warm cocoon. Shutting away the world. There is only me.

* * *

I have a dream... for the first time, in a long time. I am inside my childhood home, recognizable immediately. I'm inside my room, standing before my old bunk bed. Its giant red ladder strangely intrigues me. The dream suddenly cuts away, and I'm downstairs in my living room. Even though it's my childhood home, I am still an adult. I step into the room. The soft sunlight. I see Eddie on the sofa. He smiles at me. He beckons me over. He's handsome and I can't deny him. I sit on his lap. Kiss his cheek. Run a hand through his boyish mop of hair. I feel safe and happy. The mood of the scene abruptly changes. Eddie's eyes hold a glint in them that they didn't have before. His pants are tight. There is a bulge. I suddenly feel wrong. I feel dirty.

I jump off Eddie. I'm a child again. Around eight or nine. I look up at his angry face. I run to the stairs and into my room. I'm in panic. I stand in my doorway and peak around the corner to see the stairs. Eddie's at the bottom, his hand gliding on the railing. His face is covered by shadows but I can still see him looking around, checking to see if anyone is noticing his ascent. I look behind me. Searching for a place to hide but there is none. I peak around the corner again. Eddie's closer now. He sees me. He's _looking_ at me. I jump away and trip on the floor. I'm just a child. I'm scared. I back myself into a corner as Eddie slowly walks over. He's standing above me. His face is warped by shadows. And I'm crying because I know something horrible is going to happen. But I'm too young to understand what it is. Eddie reaches for me. The dream cuts blank.

I slowly blink. It feels as though I had just awoken from a long coma. My body feels rested, but also… something else. I recall my dream and chuckle at the absurdity of it. I laugh even _harder_ in embarrassment as I remember how dream-Eddie had an erection. But I cannot shake the fear that hatched inside my mind. Why was I a kid in the dream? What kind of fuck up shit did that even mean? Turning my head, I finally notice that Eddie is not in the hole with me. Groggily, I push myself to a standing position. Then, I _feel_ it. That unmistakable throbbing sensation between your legs… the morning after a _fuck_.

The morning after… Rusted gears are moving inside my brain. My eyes dart back and forth as I recall Eddie's kiss. I aggressively rub my lips in horrid realization and fall back down into the dirt. He knew I drugged myself. He _knew_ and he… The childish fear that resided in my dream suddenly bursts forth. I begin tugging at my short, black hair. He was supposed to protect me from the men, but who was here to protect me from _him_? His loud, mocking laughter suddenly fills the foxhole. I'm drowning in it. My face clenches and tightens into a snarl of rage. I grab my gun and pull myself out of the hole. As I stand, my muscles quiver from fatigue. I can still feel the aftereffects of the drug dragging on my body.

But Eddie's there. Sitting with the boys as they eat a small breakfast. He's smiling. He sees me and gives a bold wink. My eyes widen at his audacity. I hobble closer. Lift my gun, aimed to the middle of his face. The boys go quiet, their faces fall but Eddie continues to smile at me. I squint at him as he lifts a flask to his mouth.

"What are you gunna do, Q? Kill me?" he takes a swish and his white teeth gleam at me.

I breathe heavily. My chest heaves. I glare at him because I know I can't do it. I can't pull the trigger. He _knows_ I won't. But I _will_ ruin that handsome face of his. Quickly, I flip the gun and swing the heavy butt towards his smirking mouth. At collision, I jump backward ready to defend myself. The hit caused Eddie to fall onto his back. Time moves slowly. He blinks, looking down at the ground. His eyes are dangerous as they trail up to lock with mine. Blood is leaking from his mouth. I stare, without fear, back at him.

He jumps up at me. I match him. We collide in the air and Eddie is able to take me down easily. We hit the dirt. It feels like there is an elephant on top of me. The sheer, unrestrained weight of his muscle against my smaller body is suffocating me. He rips away my gun and tosses it away. I punch him. Eddie shakes it off. His face is beat red with anger. He pulls back his large arm and then it shoots forward like a slingshot. I see stars. The side of my face feels numb. The imprint of his knucle stings my cheek. I can hear his haggard, uneven breath against me. I lie still in pain beneath him. Waiting. Playing dead.

Eddie stands and then I lift my leg. I smash my heel with as much force as possible against his groin. He howls and falls to his knees. I jump at him again. Push him to the ground. The blood from my face leaks onto his. My elbow collides with his eye. I punch him in the mouth again. His arms come up to block his face and it's like hitting brick. His immense hands close around my wrists and cross my arms at the elbows. Effectively preventing my attack. Without much effort, he tosses me off. I roll in the dirt as he jumps up. For a long while, we stare at each other. Blood is leaking down my face and mouth. It trails along my throat and onto my shirt. Eddie's eye is getting swollen. The skin around his mouth is tinged dark red. My blood is on his jaw. It drips down onto his uniform. Trickling onto his smiley face badge. He sneers at me and then finally turns away.

The company is silent. They stare at me as I collapse in the dirt, too tired to move. They don't act to help me. They don't budge to comfort me.

From then on, I sleep alone in my hole and tent. I hold my gun closer than ever. Every sound causes my ears to prick with alert. Eddie doesn't speak to me. He doesn't acknowledge me. The boys follow the older man's example. I'm like the loser sitting at the lunch table. The loneliness of Vietnam is tangible, even through the thick fires and destructive monsoons. I cling to it. It's all I have.

We are heading to Saigon. Dr. Manhattan has finally agreed to intervene in the war.

* * *

The city has enough bars and prostitutes to keep the boys happy. I am floored by my own reflection in a real mirror. Pale, unhealthy skin. Eyes rimmed red and the sensitive skin around them smudged dark. The facial features were familiar. The nose, the mouth, the cheeks. A person I had seen before but could not remember her name. I am only twenty-two years old.

The purpose of my life has slipped away. I was supposed to help people. Not murder kids. Not murder screaming, innocent people. The boys in this war didn't care about peace. Didn't care about spreading democracy or common good. Their fight was spiritless. They killed because they were afraid _to be_ killed. Burned down jungles because they were scared at the chance of the Vietcong running through. Scared. They were just scared.

I wore their dog tags. Eddie had once told me I was carrying their weight for nothing. Dead weight. But it wasn't for nothing. Was it? I couldn't let go. Didn't want to let go. It felt like Vietnam was it's own separate plane of existence. Where the rules to reality need not apply. Boys blew up and they disappeared. But we moved on. Didn't think twice about it. It felt like they would simply be waiting for us back home. They were gone from Vietnam but they weren't gone from the _world_… were they?

Were we that ignorant of death? I would lie awake at night, thinking about it. Dead. Boom-dead. Nothing more. Nothing else. That was it. That was all there was. Nothing.

I longed to be a child again. I longed to hide from this world. I felt old. I am only twenty-two. I felt heavy. Dead weight. I could smell the stink of this country on my body, and I wondered if it would ever go away. All the questions of the world come colliding together and are thrown into a single stream that leads to only one answer.

We are alone.

"_Alone_." I whisper this word to myself.

We build golden stairs to an empty Heaven. The abyss of the world stares, and I stare back. I trip and fall. Our existence is not made. We are what we are. There is no destiny. I was not born to murder. I was not born to shoot a gun. I was not born to be lonely. We are what we are.

Our illusions are too thick to see clearly through. They plea to be saved and beg for there to be something more. There is nothing else. Don't turn away. Those people wailing at night. Don't turn away. And fear that it's all a sham. Accept it. Your fingers reach for smoke. We are alone.

You pray to yourself. The only thing that waits for us after death… is a worm. Accept it.

* * *

We are lounging in a bar the day we meet with Dr. Manhattan. He's dressed in a suit and we're dirty and sweaty. A Vietnamese woman is hanging off Eddie as he shakes Dr. Manhattan's glowing hand. He pulled her in about an hour after we stepped foot into the city. Like a proud fisherman showing off his prized tuna, he dragged her around. It's sickening, and almost sad. She believes he cares for her. But I knew. The Comedian cared for nothing in this world. I should have warned her… but I couldn't bring myself to.

"Q."

"Doc." I shake his hand and he gives me a simple smile. I return it stiffly.

"I suppose with God on our side now, the war is ours…" I release Dr. Manhattan's hand and twist my bar stool away from him.

"God?"

He stands beside me as I down a shot. Watching me. Humans have become something abstract and unknown to him. I noticed a long time ago, all the way back to the Crimebusters meeting, that he stared a lot. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eddie and his woman at the bar. I try to blink it away and ask for another shot.

I can hear the soft giggles of the Vietnamese woman as Eddie whispers something in her ear. And Dr. Manhattan is just leering at me with white, unblinking eyes. Watching my anger churn under my thin skin. Noticing the angry bruises on my face. I strum my fingers against the wooden bar table. Nervously. Compulsively. _Drrrum_-_Drrrum_-_Drrrum_-_Drrrum_.

"Oh, Mr. Eddie!" she playfully slaps his shoulder. Dr. Manhattan cocks his head to the side.

I abruptly stand, knocking over my stool. I mutter about how it's rude to stare and I march out of the bar. Even as I was leaving, I could feel God's eyes following me. Haunting me.

* * *

I stare up into the unfathomable and other worldly blue light of the Almighty. He's made himself into a giant. Choppers and planes fly around him like bugs. The Vietcong shoot at him. With a raise of his hand… they're gone. Just gone. I look down at my gun. My obsolete weapon.

Other soldiers are around me, stalking through the grass. We were meant to kill the stragglers that Dr. Manhattan left behind. There's enough to keep us busy. In front of me, Eddie is setting a man on fire. The Vietcong are retreating. They can't defeat God.

Not long after this, the entire Vietcong army surrenders. Some ask to surrender directly to God. He stands on a box as they curl to the ground in a bow before him. I look at the groveling filth before me and then at the indestructible man. I grit my teeth with rage.

It's June. V.V.N Night is finally here. There is a celebration outside. I don't partake in it. I stand beside Dr. Manhattan in the bar. Eddie is behind us, pouring himself a drink. I suppose we should feel elated. Perhaps even proud that our country won. But there is nothing. I watch the fireworks burst in the sky, the kids running around with sparklers, the adults drinking and laughing.

"-all thanks to _you_, right?"

"You sound bitter."

Dr. Manhattan turns to look at Eddie. I don't even bother to. The sound of the bottle clinking against the shot glass reaches my ears.

"Me? Bitter? Fuck no." he gives a soft laugh.

But he _is_ bitter. He _is_ angry. We've been stuck in this filthy country, apparently getting nothing done. We watched soldiers die, become mutilated, go slowly insane. Murder, blood, skulls, bones, bullets, fire, children, screaming, women, crying, heroin, lice, disease. Then Dr. Manhattan finally decides the war is worth his time to step into. He waves his hand and it's all over. He waves his hand and does everything that we had been _trying_ to do. Our weapons are obsolete. _We_, as humans, are obsolete. In the news, all the credit will go to Dr. Manhattan and no one else. We _were_ bitter and he didn't seem to be able to fathom _why_.

"First chopper out, man. I'm _gone_."

Hate was not something Dr. Manhattan could understand. Contempt neither. Both emotions are needed to understand Vietnam. I was ready to leave too. Ready to leave this jaded, rotting country. Ready to leave these distrustful, stupid people. Ready to leave behind the decay and jungles. I was done with it all. I was tired.

A Vietnamese woman approaches the bar. She is pregnant. Remembering her from two months ago in Saigon, I glare into her face. I feel disgusted by her… and by Eddie. My eyes glue to the floor as she walks by and into the bar. Disgruntled, I lean against the door frame as I continue to watch the fireworks. My mind skips around, carefully avoiding the potholes of thoughts that lead to... _him_.

A flutter of excitement and nervousness pops into my stomach as I think about our departure for home. I observe the scene in front of me. I hated this country. I hated these people. But for some tragic reason… it all felt _normal_. Maybe _that's_ where the feeling of contempt comes from. There is shouting behind me. I turn my head slightly to hear better, but not to look.

It's Eddie. Of course it's Eddie.

"My _face_!" he yells.

I turn more to see over my shoulder. "What did you do, you fuckin' _bitch_, you hurt my face, you _whore_-" his hands are covering his face. They are soaked with blood. I turn around fully and watch as the woman drops the jagged bottle. I slowly unfold my arms from their crossed position, my mouth slightly agape. God intervenes,

"Blake, don't…"

Eddie pulls out his gun. "… do it."

_BANG_

The woman falls back on to a table. It turns on its side and she falls to a crumpled mess on the floor. I stare in shock. At her still open eyes, at the gunshot wound, at her protruding stomach.

"She was pregnant… and you gunned her down."

Eddie killed his own kid. I'm appalled. The feeling, strangely, passes at the drop of a second. Was that mass of flesh inside her belly different than any other kid we killed during this war? Or the babies we strapped bombs to? I frown down at the woman. Short pointless lives. Apparently Eddie didn't see the difference, and I was having difficulty to as well. Insanity that was still, cruelly, sane to me.

"You don't really give a damn about human beings! I've watched you."

Dr. Manhattan remains silent during the accusation. Because maybe he acknowledges it's all true. If he knew her death would occur, why not stop it? Why not protect human life? Though, who the fuck was I to preach? I did even less than he.

"God help us all…"

Eddie screams for a medic. As he struts through the doorway, his eye catches my own gaze. For the first time in two months. It's only for a millisecond. He looks away and walks on. Dr. Manhattan is still standing over the dead woman, a hand thoughtfully resting on his chin. I turn to watch Eddie's retreating form as he heads to the medic building.

In the middle of the night, I find myself standing in front of the building. It's raining out. Cold. When I exhale, a cloud of breath leaks out and becomes battered by raindrops. But I don't go in. I reside to sitting on the stone steps. I stare at the ground, my hands on my knees. The puddle on the ground shows my warped reflection. It never becomes clear enough to see. The rain is unrelenting. My mind races with thoughts, questions, and answers. But none of them seem to explain _why _I'm here. I decide to just revel in my physical feelings. My hair clinging to my forehead. The pitter-patter of rain against my bare arms. My breath against my chapped lips.

I no longer hold a gun by my side. There is no need for it. Peace has been brought. Set on the table. Greedily eaten. But I can't escape feeling the uncomfortable absence of my weapon. My consolation. The object which I would cling to during the nights in the jungle. It was gone. This was _all_ going to be gone. What did I have to cling to in New York City? I tilt my head back, allowing the hard rain to touch my face. I couldn't think of an answer.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I snap my head around. Eddie's leaning against the poorly made, wooden door frame. The entire side of his face is covered with gauze. His blood was still slightly soaking through it. He would need stitches. I _almost_ feel sorry for him, but then I remember that he's Eddie… and he deserves a lot more than a cut up face. I remain silent as I continue to be stared at. There was no answer to give. After all, I didn't _know_ what the hell I was doing.

"I was gunna sneak out for a drink but-" he gives me a nod.

"-you're fuckin' drenched to the _bone_. Come on…"

Eddie turns around and steps inside the building. I look forward once again, staring down at the dirty puddle. Shiver at the temperature. I slowly get up and follow him inside.

* * *

I sit in a chair across the cot he has been given. He tosses me a blanket and without a second's hesitation, I toss it right back. Eddie wordlessly lets it drop back onto the sheets. Releasing a long, irritated breath, he takes a squat on the edge of the cot. I cross my arms and jut my chin out. I didn't want his comfort or his offering peace. I stare at Eddie and he stares back.

We sit in silence. My anger and bitterness settling heavily between us. My body language purposely showing my reluctance to give any pity or kindness. Eddie looks down to the floor, and then gives a sour, breathy laugh. "Guess I won't be winning father of the year, huh?" laughs again, touching his bandaged face. I crinkle my nose with distaste. When he looks back up at me, I slowly, deliberately shake my head. None of it was funny. He leans back,

"Jesus Christ, Q. Whaddya _want_ from me?" asks Eddie, with a frown on his face.

"Yeah, I shot her. Yeah, she was pregnant. Who gives a shit? You think I would actually give a crap about that kid even if it _were_ born? Better off, in my opinion."

He smirks.

"And all of them back in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave will gasp, shout, and protest." His brows knit together as he looks off to the side in thought.

"But they don't get it, do they? They don't _know_. No, of course not…"

My stare is unchanging, unrelenting, unsympathetic. _Hard_. I remain silent. I had nothing to say to him. He all ready _knows_. I didn't have to utter a syllable. Eddie looks at me again. Leans forward, touches my knee. I release a hiss and he immediately removes his hand. He appears hurt. He can't _be _hurt because Eddie doesn't contain real human emotions. Or at least this is what I want to believe.

"Look, Q…" a muscle twitches in his jaw.

"I've done things, ya know…" he looks into my eyes with recognition. "Never once have I felt bad, let alone apologize." His dark gaze trails around the room. "I've only asked for forgiveness one time before… Only apologized once before…" from his eyes I can tell he's lost in the memory of that _'once before'_.

"But…" he's back in present time. Back with me.

"You deserve an apology." I breathe in. No.

Time is ticking unbearably slow. "I'm, uh…" A muscle twitches in his jaw again. I hold my breath.

"I apologize." the lameness is enough for me to want to rip open his new stitches.

I feel anger. Anger towards the words that come out of his mouth. Anger towards how _sincere_ he actually seems. I half-wished there would be no apology. That it would all just fester inside of him and make him miserable. I didn't want to forgive him. My fingers dig into the muscle of my arms and my nostrils flare. Why do it in the first place? Why abuse me _in the first place_?

"You really are hell-bent on destroying anything good in your life, aren't you?" Eddie appears taken back by my rise of words.

But it was true. I knew it was, but I just kept denying it. But why? Why hide it? Why deny it? I hated him. I hated what he did, but even more, I hated how secure I felt with him around. How he always had my back. How he always seemed to _care_... in his own Eddie way. And, god help me, I think I actually cared for him as well. With revulsion comes this realization. This care was hard and hateful, violent and explosive, right _and_ wrong. Words spit from my mouth that only seem natural to say,

"You sick fuck."

Eddie smiles at me, eyes shimmering. He even nods. Agreeing with me. "What can I say? I'm just a man."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: DISCLAIMER- I do not own Watchmen in any way, shape, or form. Francise Jean Speziale/The Queen is my own creation.**

**I'm sorry that this chapter is so short! But this week has been busy.**

* * *

"What are _you_ two doing here? This is a government base and I hear that you're wanted by the police."

A person can tell when they are welcome. Laurie treats Rorschach and myself like dogs that need to be put outside. Rorschach apologizes, though without actually feeling sorry. I observe as Dr. Manhattan shrinks himself down to normal size, unabashedly naked.

"The Comedian is dead." I announce.

But Dr. Manhattan all ready knows. Of course he does. He appears unconcerned about the man's death. Why should he? Human life has just become a trivial annoyance to him. Laurie crosses her arms in a huff, declaring how much of a bastard Blake was. A _monster_. She says this even though she knows we were partners. Even though she knows I _chose_ him over Dan and her.

"And yet, he was still ten-times the better hero than you or your mother ever were." I mutter.

As soon as it leaves my mouth, I know I'm over the line and out of place. The younger girl bristles and turns on me, yelling about how much of a criminal I am and how I became just as bad as the Comedian. I ignore her childish tantrum, rudely turning my back to her. She doesn't take it very well.

"Not here for this." Rorschach cuts in. "Came to warn-"

"Jon, get these creeps _out_ of here!"

I look over my shoulder to scowl at Laurie. Mystified that we even use to be friendly to one another. While I had changed, her and Dan never did. It made me hate them for it. After the Keene Act was put through, I didn't even bother speaking to the two of them again.

"I said I think you ought to go."

"Spent a lot of time getting in to see you. Not leaving before I've-"

A loud rush of wind sails passed my ears, and we're suddenly outside the base.

"-had my say."

Discarded dog shit.

Rorschach turns to me, his body rigid. He's angry with me for rustling Laurie's feathers and causing our expulsion. Feeling just as apologetic as he felt towards Laurie, I shrug my shoulder at Rorschach. He turns on his heel and walks into the night. I know not to follow him this time. My lips purse in frustration as I wander down my own path. The meeting with Dr. Manhattan and Laurie causes bad memories to spur to the surface of my mind. Hell, this whole _situation_ has been bringing everything back from the dead. Well… besides Eddie, that is. Dark roads in my life, I'd rather had forgotten for good, are appearing before me once again.

Even though I know I shouldn't have, I believe my retort towards Laurie was justified. Not that it was her _fault_ that she didn't know Eddie. She only knew what people _wanted_ her to believe about him. Well, maybe even some of those things were true too… But Eddie deserved more than slanders and spitting remarks from people who never even knew him. Why did no one care that he was dead? Only Rorschach and me. Was this what awaited us all after death? Shrugging shoulders and apathetic colleagues? Maybe, _hopefully_, it was only for Eddie…

* * *

There is a roar. A roar like I've never heard before. There are people everywhere with signs, banners, US flags. Posters with mine and the Comedian's name written on them. They crept up from beneath us. Singing praises to our murderous glory. We were heroes from Vietnam. We were national treasures. We were all they wanted to be. I became dazed by the overpowering worship.

Flashing lights attack my vision, I hold up an arm to shield my eyes. The press is screaming for me to pose. Eddie smiles, righteous and triumphant with gleaming teeth and a brand new cigar. He slings an arm around my shoulders, allowing the media to get their shot. There are kids in the crowd wearing t-shirts with my crown symbol. Kids the same age or maybe even older than the ones I murdered in Nam. With his arm still around me, Eddie shakes me, giving an aggressive squeeze to awaken me.

"Take a bow. They _love_ you, Q."

I could have wept from it all.

* * *

New York wasn't how it had been. While I would hump through the jungles of Nam, I'd think about the past. Like looking through an old picture book. Or, who knows? Maybe New York _was_ the same. But my memories that I looked back on were only how I _thought_ it was. How I _wished_ it were. False hopes were shattered when I returned. I walked through the streets, a crawling dreariness slipping from the slums and into my brain.

The junkies with sugar packets, the whores with stilettos, the gangs with mutilated hearts. They weren't _in_ the city. They _were_ the city. The lights, the billboards, the sewers, the puddles, the taxicabs, the steam, the cum. Content in their self-destruction, in their self-caused misery. The city was a stranger to me. It was an alien and intense feeling. The city was so congested, so _alive_. Yet at the same time, it was dead on the inside and a cloud of loneliness hung in the air. Why? Why couldn't I go back?

The country is numbed by violence. Deaf to human plight. Condoning fights, mobs, riots, racism, hate, crime, and deviation. Our social ills swirl and blur and mix together into a red, bloody madness. It flashes against my face. On and off, like a traffic light. Where was I? Where was my responsibility as a hero? I didn't want to bring peace. I wanted to _break_ it. Make it hurt. There was a brutality to my nature that had not been there _before_. Released and brought on by Vietnam. I couldn't cage it back. I wanted to feel normal again. But it was out of my reach. Through a window as I gazed in. Only gunfire and blood and violence felt normal. But this normalcy only exists in my memories of Vietnam. A sick backward joke. Maybe I was_ still_ in Vietnam… rotting. As the glistening eye staring into the night sky. While slowly poisoning and killing the people around it.

I once read that you never feel more alive than when you're almost dead. Rain bullets down on me. I just wanted to be a _person_ again.

Isolation. Drifting loneliness.

I willingly chose to do solo scouting instead of working with the team in the Owl Ship. I felt out of place amongst it all. Word gets back to the states of the horrors that occurred in Vietnam. Dan always gives me worried looks; he doesn't know what to say. Laurie seems appalled of me. Betrayal. Friendships ebb away and become useless. I didn't even _feel_ for them anymore. Their principals just confused me. We've become different species. They don't understand.

They don't understand why I wake up in the middle of the night, sweating. I was bitter. I was full of rage that could not be guided.

Dan reads the papers. Everyday there is a mention of someone or other being found dead. Pimps, kidnappers, rapists, gang members. Brutality. He asks Rorschach about them. The other man shakes his head and, in unison, they turn to me. I don't respond to their interrogations, but they see me for what I am.

I try to think that I've not become another Rorschach. Judge, Jury, and Executioner. Something I hated and always looked down upon. I don't know. All I know is that there is a cycle to crime. A person breaks the law, they go to jail, they get out, and then continue breaking the law until they get caught again. Cancer on the body of the city. So one must cut out the cancer. Dan doesn't get this neither does Laurie. They believe in people bettering themselves or allowing them to be truly punished by the law. The law doesn't punish. It shakes its shoulder and let's them go. I wasn't as merciful. I had become something I hated. What did principles of society mean anymore, if I always went back on _my own_?

"God save the Queen." Rorschach mocks me.

* * *

They loved me and then they hated me. Riots, violence, mayhem. They wanted justice to be in the hands of filthy, dirty cops. I smiled at them, they're blindness to depravity amusing to me. Let them eat cake.

They stewed beneath us. A massive sea of hatred and contempt and ignorance. They did not realize that even their freedom to protest wasn't _free_. War machines protected it. _We_ protected it. Baby-killers and woman-beaters were the only things to save them. They throw bricks at us. Rotten food. A garbage can is tossed. Dan tries calming the masses down with peaceful talk. A bottle bomb hits the Owl Ship. A stone collides with my mouth. My tongue wiggles around my aching tooth. You can't calm down a mass of raging retarded filth. Eddie knows this. I watch him out the corner of my eye.

I've been avoiding him since we returned. Refusing to do rounds with him and keeping conversation to the bare minimum. I wanted to be around him. To forgive him. But at the same time, I can't. I have to hate him. I can't fully forgive him even though I want to. Even if I wanted things to go back to the way they were… they can't. I look back towards the crowd. The people protest against us. They shout that I am a murderer. The Comedian is a rapist. We're evil. We're all evil, they spit.

We are what we are, I think bluntly. Throweth the first rock…

Eddie shouts at them, sick of their nonsensical and irritating antics. As he jumps to the ground, I follow. As I march towards them, a question rises like a bubble in my thoughts…

How could _I_ be evil?

A young man runs toward me. I crack my gun against his face and steal the bottle bomb he was holding. I throw it into the crowd. What did that even mean anymore? Evil? Those two roads, once undeniably identifiable, have merged together into something I could no longer differentiate. Did that, in of its self, make me evil? Loaded with rubber bullets, I shoot my gun at random rioters. Dan is shouting for Eddie and I to stop.

What did it mean to be a good person nowadays? The snarling, twisted faces of the rioters engulf me. Swarm around me. The crack of a gunshot resounds in my ears. I've been shot... with real bullets. I stagger back as blood rushes from my arm. I look at my wound, the pain spiking through my body. I start laughing. A loud, horrible laugh. It disturbs even me, but only causes me to laugh harder. It frightens the people. They begin running around like animals. What did it mean to be a hero nowadays? I simply became what _they_ made me into. I was supposed to be _their_ hero. I run after the crowd, shooting wildly at as many people as I could, with my one arm limp by my side. Just a bunch of animals.

Something hard hits the back of my head. For a moment, I black out and drop to my knees. My gun falls from my hand. The people, realizing I'm down, suddenly charge at me. I let them hurt me. Willingly, I let them beat me. They stomp on me, punch me. I feel the brunt force of a bat. I take it all. Pain had a welcome mat at my door. I had been dying of numbness. As they beat me, the people spit on me and say that America was a democracy. They don't need a whore of a queen.

At the end of it all, I lie amongst bags of garbage on a side street. Above me, on the brick wall, is spray-painted the phrase: "WHO WATCHES THE WATCHMEN?" The graffiti that I saw so long ago has spread like a disease through the city. It was everywhere now.

I hear the riot still raging on, keeping Dan and Eddie busy. I have trouble moving. My face and mouth were bleeding. My right eye was swollen shut. My side ached from broken ribs. My left ankle was most likely broken as well. One, two, three… _Four_ crushed fingers. My left arm was drenched with blood from the gunshot. I was feeling lightheaded.

I blink slowly, repeatedly. A fly lands on my face. It scuttles around my cheek in quick, jerky movements. I don't swat it away.

I went to war for these people. I thought it was fair. I rightfully thought that I wasn't worth the exception from war. I come back and they call me a monster. Beat me to death and leave me to lie with grime. My life had been dedicated to them, yet now I meant as much to them as when I was some homeless girl on the street. Nothing made sense to me anymore. What was good or what was right, I was tired of running after the answers. Tired of trying to find a piece to a puzzle that may not even exist. Sick of morals, codes, and ethics being spooned down my throat. Sick of feeling _wrong_.

The fly finally lifts off my face. My one good eye remains glued on its flight across the street. It crosses in front of a silhouette of a large man. The sight of a glowing cherry in his hand let's me know exactly who it is.

"Jesus Christ. Looks like the inbred villagers overthrew the monarchy." He smiles sourly down at me.

Eddie carefully picks me up, mindful of my injuries. He says he's taking me to the hospital. Don't want to go, I tell him. He has to carry me bridal-style. Any other way would aggravate my splintered ribs. My good eye stares up at his gnarled scar, his graying hair.

"All right, all right. If you wanna be stubborn we'll just bring you back to Bird Boy's basement. See how much he can fix you up." He speaks through the cigar in his mouth.

Don't want to go, I tell him. Abruptly, he tosses me to the ground. I scream in pain. My body quivers from waves of agony. A few tears leak down my face. Eddie leans over me, his expression making me cringe.

"Well, then I guess I can just leave you here to die, _right_? Where's your fucking head, Q?"

I sputter through my busted lip and cracked teeth. I tell him I'm done with it all. I'm done working and living with Dan. I'm done with the hero business, there's no point to it. Eddie laughs at me, straightening himself back to full height.

"Is that right, huh? What are you gunna do, Q? Move out and get your own place? With what money? You were a seventeen-year-old, sewer rat _punk_ when I first saw you at that meeting. High school drop out, am I right? So what are you gunna do for a job? Work in a factory? What else, huh? Get married, have a couple of kids, be one of those people working at home and nothing else? Yeah, that sounds great… being a _nobody_."

We're all ready nobodies, I quip.

"You're only what you wanna be, Q, and you just wanna _be_ a fuckin' nobody." Eddie squats down to the balls of his feet. His thick shadow covers my body.

"Even though you haven't seen me around, I keep a close eye on you, see? Stop being so wrapped up inside of yourself with your goddamn self-pity! Whining and moping around, Jesus Christ! This is a different kind of war, you hear me, Q? Worse than Nam, 'cause this time there is nowhere to return to. I said, _you hear me_?"

"No."

Eddie slaps me with his cigar-less hand. My head violently swings to the side. One of my teeth finally comes loose. I lazily push it out of my mouth with my tongue. Eddie's leather glove shines with the blood that had been on my face previously. He grabs me by the front of my top, lifting me slightly off the pavement. His nose is almost touching mine. Purposely, his voice is loud and violent, attacking my ears and causing me to shudder.

"Just because you're near death doesn't mean I won't fuck you up, _get it_?! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I'm not like you, Eddie."

"Yeah, that's pretty clear, isn't it? What's that got to do with anything?" he sneers.

"I can't _sleep_." My voice is strained. Nearly pleading. "All that comes are pictures of people screaming in fires. Kids without jaws. Maggots and cut up horses. And then I don't want to feel… just want to hurt people. Want to _hate_ people." Eddie's face hardens. A moment passes in which he simply stares at me. He gives me shake, my body complying like the broken rag doll that it was.

"Just drop it. Forget about that stuff, you hear? Or else you'll become worse than a corpse. You'll be walkin' around dead on the _inside_. Though, from the _looks_ of it, you all ready are."

I smile again, choking out a laugh. What was so bad about being 'dead on the inside'? It was better than feeling. Almost better than real _living_. "Why do you even care?"

I see an all too familiar muscle twitch in his jaw. Eddie breathes heavily through his nose, making his nostrils flare. He lowers his voice,

"I don't apologize to just anyone, Q. But I guess you're too self-absorbed that you can't even see that."

I remain silent. Choosing simply to swallow the blood that had been pooling onto the back of my tongue. It had been a long while since someone was talking to me… and actually made sense. Someone who knew what the hell I was talking about when I spoke. Who didn't make me feel crazy or alone... Someone who genuinely cared. It was relieving. A wave of tranquility. Just… why did it have to be Eddie? God damn it. God damn my soul. The only thing that made sense to me anymore… was the Comedian.

"I missed you, Eddie." I whisper, almost afraid to even say it.

His face relaxes and he releases a sigh. Meticulously avoiding my injuries, he picks me up again.

"I know, Q. I know."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: DISCLAIMER- I do not own Watchmen in any way, shape, or form. Francise Jean Speziale/The Queen is my own creation.****  
****Thank you for the reviews. I have to apologize for how long this took. Life has been hectic and the dark cloud over my head, that usually inspires my creative writing, has disappeared for a bit. But I have not abandoned the story! It just takes longer for me to become satisfied with a chapter.**

* * *

Edward Morgan Blake  
1924 – 1985

He died on a Friday of October.

The American flag was gently folded upon the casket. The rain, thick and unrelenting, caused mud to slip into the grave. The earth took notice of this moment. The lack of sun, the howling wind, the bitter rain… It seemed appropriate for his funeral.

"Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts; shut not thy merciful ears to our prayers-"

Secrets… My mind lingers on this word.

As the casket begins to be lowered, an immense pressure pushes against my chest. My muscles clench and unclench in spasmodic movements. I had the desire to jump after it. Rip it open. Grab him by his bloated, blue neck and slap him. This can't be real. The Comedian doesn't _die_. He just… _can't_.

"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

Sally Jupiter and her daughter are absent. Dr. Manhattan is impassive. A hand thoughtfully resting on his chin. Dan stands beside me, the rain sliding off his glasses. His mouth is pulled into a deep frown. Did he actually feel remorse for Eddie? I doubt it. I refused to believe it. Adrian has his own personal assistant to hold an umbrella over him. His expression mirrors Dan's, and I can't help but think that it was all false. They all essentially disliked the Comedian. Why would they feel sadness for his demise?

"I heard a voice from Heaven, saying unto me, write…"

People begin tossing fistfuls of dirt onto the casket. The clumps separate mid-air and shower like filth in the rain. In my pocket, the smiley face pin Rorschach gave me is flipping between my fingers.

_Toss it_.

My fist clenches around it and pulls slightly out my coat pocket. It's the Comedian's. It belongs to him. Even in death. _Toss it_.

"Lord have mercy on us."

My body doesn't move. I can't do it. It's the only thing of Eddie's I have. The only tangible, physical thing I have. The sole testament that he was actually _in my life_. I will never again see his face. Never again hear his voice. Gone. Forever gone. My hand releases the pin, abandoning it in my pocket. My head drops and comes to rest in my palm. Closing my eyes. Shutting out the world around me. I wanted to rip my hair out. Claw at my eyes. How is it possible that a person is forever gone? It doesn't make sense to me. Even after all this time.

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven."

There is a hand on my shoulder. It's Dan's. I _know_ it is.

"Q… I'm –uh-"

I remove my hand from my face but I continue to look at the ground. I don't want to look at him. His mournful eyes and distraught face. I just don't want to see it. Dan becomes quiet, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to comfort me. I haven't seen him in so long, he's forgotten how to interact with me. I am not amongst friends.

Adrian saves him by closing in for a handshake. I hug my coat closer to myself. My eyes are drawn to the grave. Stepping away from Adrian and Dan and closer towards the hole. I lean slightly over it. My gaze gloomily traces the form of the box. Imagining Eddie's large body crammed inside. Cold. Lifeless.

Rain slips over and down my nose and crashes down into the grave. Nothing waits for us after death… right? I will never see Eddie again… _right_?

My jaw gives a slight quiver. I bite my lip to steady it.

"-lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil."

If there is nothing for us… then why are we created? I squeeze my eyes shut. I was an adult wasn't I? Why was I incapable of understanding? _Why_?

"Amen."

Opening my eyes, I give one last lingering stare. "Bye, Eddie…"

* * *

My left foot is in a cast. Stitches around my right eye along with dark bruises on my lips and cheeks. My bullet wound was stitched up and heavily gauzed. There is a medical mechanism on my hand to keep my fingers aligned and straight. I continuously tongue the empty space where my tooth had been. I was bed-ridden. A useless slug. A fallen tree slowly being eaten away by termites. Dan took care of me; reminiscent of the first time I was brought to his house. Every night, I hear Rorschach come in through the basement, and then he and Dan head off to do what they do best. While I rot in bed sipping orange juice.

It's not so much 'bad guys' that need to be fought nowadays, but the swarming mobs throughout the city. We were being condemned. The city turning into an unfathomable darkness around us, ready to devour. I sit on my bed, looking outside through the window as I always do. There lies the world. There lies the world that lies. What does it want from us? How did it all turn to this? How did it even start?

All the way back to the Minutemen, I think to myself.

Something went wrong. All the way back then. What happened? They damned us all. Maybe the world would have been better without them. Without… all of us. The watchers of the world. How were we fit to protect this world? What was the difference between us… and them?

Dog tags jingle loosely in my palm. I close my eyes, running my thumb over one of them. Each tiny clink or soft touch brings back a memory. Carrion bodies, screams, reeking blood and fungus. I feel so weak. There is a fear. A fear of sleep. Of dreams. Of thoughts and memories. My body wants sleep, but my mind is too afraid. I wish for it all to give away. So I can no longer feel. No longer think or dream. I want the cancer of my life to be sucked away into a black hole. For my sins and nightmares to dissipate into a fog and float to Elsewhere.

I wish I could float away to Elsewhere. Where I would not be condemned or hated. Sick or unwanted.

"Q."

Dan is the doorway with his Nite Owl cowl pulled back. His brows are knitted in hesitation and forlorn. I know that face. A serious discussion is about to be held. I purse me lips, quickly putting the dog tags in my pocket before I turn fully towards him. "What's wrong?"

Dan looks down as he is pushed aside by Rorschach. The masked man stomps into the room, stopping before my bed. "Tricky Dick." I raise a brow at him. Dan sighs and takes a few more steps closer, "It seems that a bill is being passed… that will make vigilantism illegal." His curly brown hair is disheveled and in his eyes. Dan looks away with defeat, "The Comedian said something about it awhile ago… but I guess… It didn't really sink in…" he murmurs. Rorschach cocks his head as he looks at Dan. My eyes trail back to the window. "Well, what are we gunna do?" I ask.

Dan lifts his head, pushing back his messy hair with a gloved hand. He clamps the locks heavily against his skull as he sighs. "We're gunna have to give it all up. Maybe we can finally get normal lives."

A normal life… what the _hell_ was that? I couldn't recall anymore. Time before crime fighting seemed too far away. Too foggy to see clearly. I suppose I'd wear one of those lady suits. Wear my hair in a ponytail. Apply a pretty shade of lipstick. Work at a desk. Retire home to a television and a microwave dinner. Was that a normal life? That's what my mother had… a normal life. Endless days thrown together onto a thread. Routines becoming mirrors of mirrors of mirrors. All the same. Because sameness meant safety. It meant security. Sedative tranquility. I'd rather kill myself.

"No."

Rorschach's harsh voice brings me back. The shorter man is standing straight, his gloved hands in his pockets as he looks from me to Dan. "Never give up. Never give in." he declares. I can see Dan's face becoming slightly red, his mouth gaping as he looks at his masked friend.

"Rorschach, we have to! The time to be a wanna-be superman is over. Don't you get it?"

"Not a superman. Not a man, at all. A symbol. Incorruptible. Unstoppable. _We_ are symbols. Can't back down."

I become bitter at his heroic 'speech', if you could call it that. We _are_ corruptible. We _are_ stoppable. We are… humans… and we are unwanted. "Symbols for who?" I scoff at him from my bed. Rorschach looks at me, and even though I can't see his face, I can feel his eyes leering at me through his mask.

"For those few people in the city who still want to see good prevail."

I say nothing back. I couldn't find any words. If there are such people… they must be hiding. "Nonetheless-" Dan is staring absentmindedly at the cast on my foot. "-if we continue, we'll be thrown in jail. It's… it's time for us to retire."

"Retire? Have normal lives? People like us… seen things. Things others wouldn't dream. Stepped inside the darkness. After seeing, can't turn backs to it. Can't ignore it." I didn't like to admit it, but there was truth behind Rorschach's words. We were cursed. After doing what we've done, there's no going back. Back to the _real world_.

"Will you ignore it, Daniel?"

Dan is gripping the frame of my bed tightly. The fabric of his gloves squeaking obnoxiously against the metal. "I…" that same hesitant, forlorn droop of his face. He gives a loud exhale. "… Adrian has already given it up and he seems to be doing perfectly fine." He continued to reason.

I let out a soft snort, "He's a whore."

Rorschach nods in agreement, shifting his footing. "Prostitution. Selling himself. And us. Gaining money because of our image."

"We have to!" Dan continued to urge, desperation in his voice. Arguing against Rorschach was always a losing battle. The man was so rock steady that it often became irritating.

"Not me. Normalcy unattainable. We were meant for something more."

This was insanity... _I_ must be losing my sanity. It's lost in my inability to escape from my mask. How are any of us going to separate from it? Dan isn't _Dan_. He is Nite Owl. Laurie isn't _Laurie_. She is Silk Spectre, And Rorschach… What was his real name? It didn't matter. He knew, like me, this wasn't something we could step away from. Bottom line, we are our masks. How can we just pack them away to collect dust and melancholy as we attempt to have 'normal lives'? I'm not going to try and pretend. To lie to myself. I can't deny who I really am…

I'm not Francis. I'm Q… I'm the Queen… of nothing.

* * *

I was twenty-two when I left Vietnam. I am twenty-eight when the Keene Act is passed. Decisions have been made. I've packed up all my things. I'm leaving Dan. There is no point in staying with the man. He once said that us heroes had to help each other. If he is no longer a hero, then why should I stay?

I walk up just as Dan locks the door. From behind him, I watch as he gazes at the gold key between his thumb and forefinger. Ever so slowly, he slips it into his pocket. His dark shadow is cast against the door, mimicking his movements as he raises his hand to give the solid wood an affectionate pat.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

Dan turns slightly, his right ear facing me. He doesn't say anything, just keeps his hand on the door he locked. The door to the basement.

"You're just backing down…" I feel disgusted by him in some way. If he really wanted to be a hero then he wouldn't just give it up. If you want something, if you love something… You do it.

"Our time is up, Q." he sighs. His hand slips off the door and he turns around. As he removes his glasses, his sad brown eyes look down at me. "Things have changed. The people don't want us anymore." Both our eyes flicker down to Dan's hands as he cleans his glasses with his shirt. "I take it, by your attitude-" he pushes his large glasses back on.

"-you're not retiring."

"I have nothing to retire to, Dan. I don't have money I can pull out of daddy's inheritance like yourself." there's a flash of indignation in Dan's eyes, but I ignore it.

"This is not just a job I have. This is life for me… and you need it too. Mark my words, Dan. If you stop, you're gunna find yourself lost and lonely down the road for suppressing something that you love so much."

"You think I love staying up for days at a time? Getting beat up by criminals? Having to heal you or Rorschach whenever you guys are hurt? Or _hell_, dealing with you two in _general_?"

"Of course you do."

Dan shakes his head, his eyes slowly going to the floor. "You like it better than me, Q. Maybe a little too much." Time halts for just a moment and I can feel a slow, deadly anger start to seep into my blood. I take a step closer towards the older man, sneering up at him. "Yeah? What's that supposed to mean?"

The corner of Dan's mouth twinges in hesitation but only for a second, "You've _killed_ people, Q! And you don't even seem to care. I'm not even talking about Nam. God knows what happened over there! But here in your own city."

I feel mute. That my anger has prevented me from speaking. What was there to even say or reason? Dan would never understand. He is from a different kind of world. But his accusations enraged me, even if they were true. He didn't know a single thing about it.

"You're a murderer, Q."

A lamp on a nearby table becomes shattered and I barely realize that I'm the cause of it. I shout for Dan to shut his fucking mouth. I throw a few insults at him before declaring my departure. As I begin to march upstairs to get the rest of my boxes, I hear him call after me. For the life of me, I don't know why but I stop and listen.

"This wasn't how it was supposed to be! Good is meant to be worked for. To be fought for. That's why we did what we did, God damnit! But now it's just… just _tainted_! Ruined! Good could no longer be good. It isn't right anymore. We weren't supposed to _kill_ people."

It's true. Maybe we weren't supposed to kill people… _I_ wasn't supposed to kill people. But I did. In order to fight the monster, you have to become one.

I shake my head at him, "You just don't get it, Dan."

"_I don't get it_? I don't get that murdering is wrong?"

His face is flushed. His glasses have slid down to the middle of his nose. He's looking up at me from the bottom of the stairs, his dark eyes sharp with anger. I shake my head at him again. There's no point in explaining. He wasn't there. In Nam. How it makes you feel upside down and twisted and wrong. How peace and tranquility feels so good. So good it hurts. I have to hurt it back. I don't want it. I wanted chaos. Murder, rage, spite, violence. All horrible emotions and actions to coat me like a thick, detestable tar. I wanted to hurt all the beautiful things around me. Laugh while I do it. If I couldn't be right, nothing else in this world deserved to be right either. This was how I felt, and Dan would never… _never_ be able to understand.

Was this how Murphy felt?

I stop my train of thought before it ventures somewhere dangerous. I turn my back on Dan to get my things.

* * *

"What do you know about this man, Paul Siccamore?"

I held a photograph in front of the cowering man. His wide eyes flashed in recognition as he looked at the photo. My grip on the scruff of his shirt tightened. "Where is he? Where did he take the kids?"

The man raised his shaking hands in defense. "I swear to God! I don't know!"

Calmly, I slip the photo into my boot with my free hand. "Swear to God?" I give a soft, airy laugh. I grab the man with both hands and ram him backwards into a wall. He gives a shout of pain but I don't allow him to recover. My brass-knuckled fist assaults his face. "Swear to God, you piece of shit, but don't lie to me!" I growl.

He tries to fight me off, but I successfully slam him to the pavement. "Where is Paul?!"

"I don't know!" he spits. I jump off him, give him two hard kicks to the ribs. He whimpers in pain and staggers to get up. Before he can get to full height, I sling my shotgun out of its holster on my back. He freezes, kneeling on the ground before me as the gun is pointed between his eyes. I stare down the barrel at him,

"Save your own life and save the lives of those kids… Tell me where he is."

The sweat from his forehead drips and mixes with the blood on his face. His lip trembles as he gazes at me. A look of fear and hate. "Jesus Christ. I thought your type was put outta business." The sound of me cocking the shotgun rings through the dark alley. He gives a sob, "Ok, ok…" he breathes out. "Last I heard, he took the kids from his wife and… and took them to his brother's house in Brooklyn."

I push the gun until it's against his forehead. The man begins shaking, "Oh God! Don't kill me!" I squint at him through the darkness. My voice is low and quiet, barely audible over his sobbing. "Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes!" is his immediate response.

I withdraw the shotgun from his sweating pig-man head. "Good." I declare. He lets out a shaky breath of relief. He smiles up at me as I return my gun to its holder and I feel my blood run cold and unforgiving. A cocky laugh rumbles from him as he stands.

I roundhouse kick him in the skull. He spins and collides with the wall. As I advance on him, he slumps down and raises his hands. "No! Wait, please! I didn't do anything wrong!" I punch and kick him with full strength, telling him to shut up whenever he tried crying for help. He eventually slumps over into unconsciousness. I gab him by his ankle and drag him to a dumpster at the opening of the alley. As I toss him in, a man walks by who pauses and stares. When I scowl at him, he quickly jogs away.

I stand for a moment, allowing the adrenaline in my body to run its course. "Brooklyn…" I murmur to myself as I scratch my nose. It would have to wait for tomorrow. Traveling around the city was difficult nowadays because I had to avoid the cops. I also had to share and discuss this new information with Rorschach.

I begin to walk over to the location I walk to every night at 5AM. The docks. I sit and wait and listen. But… _he's_ never there. It's always very quiet. Very… still. No one dares to venture onto his turf anymore. I stand amongst the abandoned warehouses and allow the world around me to seep deep down inside me. Silence in the eye of the storm. It's not a very comforting feeling.

Faded on one of the warehouses is the graffiti that I saw all those years ago. As my eyes trace the red paint I think about how it's been nearly seven years since that day. Was it really that long ago? Vietnam felt like it was only last week. I lean against the building as I suddenly feel old and weighed down. I pull on the metal chain around my neck, and from out of my top comes the dog tags. I idly run my thumb over them. Close my eyes as I hold the metal against my chin. Breathing steady as if to bring myself into a tranquil meditation. My mind wanders towards Dan. I can't help but think... Is this the end? Or the _beginning_ of the end of all that I cared for? Of the group, only me and Rorschach were still active. The fall of vigilantism...

Would the world even stop and care?

My eyes open as my nose catches a whiff of something. Quickly, I tuck the dog tags back into my top. Thinking it was just my imagination, I breathe in through my nose once again. No, it wasn't my mind playing tricks on me. Turning my head to see the corner of the warehouse, the cloud of smoke is visible before even he turns into view. His face is clouded by a shadow; only the glow of the cigar is visible. His stride is confident and upright. As he comes closer, the light from the lamppost that I'm under reveals his face. I thought I'd never see that bastard smirk or taunting dimples ever again. His two fingers snatch the cigar from his mouth as he smiles down at me.

"Word on the grapevine was that a Queen was looking for me."

The same calmness that came from the dog tags washes over me once again as I hear his voice. I almost smile, but I tighten my jaw to prevent it. I couldn't allow him to become too aware of my elation.

"Hey, Eddie..."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry for taking so long! I haven't abandoned the story.**

* * *

First, Eddie. Next, Manhatten. Then, Viedt. I toss the newspaper into a garbage can as I walk by. Rorschach was right after all. Someone _was_ knocking off masks. But why? Was it a personal vendetta? Or something more? Maybe we were being picked off so we wouldn't be able to get in the _way_ of something. Taking a moment to rub my face, I give a sigh of fatigue. I don't know. I just don't know what the hell to think.

I walk by a small flower stand. For a slight moment, I feel as if I should buy a bouquet to place on Eddie's grave. But what do flowers mean in the grand scheme of things? Sorry you were murdered and are now rotting in the ground. Enjoy the tulips.

No. I won't even bother. As I approach my apartment door, I push away the itchy feeling of sadness that comes along with every thought of Eddie. Push it deeper and deeper.

I close the door and lean heavily against it. My mind is thinking about nothing as I stare into and beyond my ugly, worn carpeting. I snap out of it as I hear a scuffle come from my living room. The light is on. Quietly, I press myself against the wall and inch over to the corner where the hallway meets the living room. I peek an eye out, only to end up scoffing as I realize that it's Rorschach. Sitting on my couch while eating a sugar cube. I come into the room, eyeing the open window behind him.

"You should lock your windows." Comes his gravelly voice as he pulls his mask over his mouth.

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind." He stands from his seat and approaches me. "Have a call from Moloch in one hour. Thought you'd like to be there." I frowned at him. Rorschach had told me about his previous two visits. He had to practically torture the man to get anything out of him.

"He contacted _you_?"

"Hrm." Rorschach gave a nod. I look away, and tap a finger against my bottom lip in thought. I felt something nagging at me from the back of my mind. Moloch was old. He was tired of being tormented by Rorschach. Why would he call on him? He didn't really _care_ if someone was picking off masks. None of this was his business. He will be _dead_ soon from cancer. It doesn't make sense. I shake away the suspicion.

Perhaps Moloch realizes that if he knows something, and Rorschach finds out he didn't say anything about it… Well, there would be consequences.

"Lemme suit up."

The rain came down hard on us as we walked to Moloch's apartment. A stray napkin from Gunga Diner attached itself to my boot. I kicked it off. I begin to think about the story that Moloch told Rorschach. It was hard to believe that Eddie was… crying. I've never seen Eddie cry. The Comedian wasn't _supposed_ to cry. He was a killing machine. The government's top soldier. Was he really that… _miserable_ at the end of his life? I give a deep frown as I feel an ache in my body. What happened to him? It's all I want to know.

I snap out of my thoughts. I have to. It's time to work. As Rorschach picks the lock, I am designated lookout. Surveying the street to check if we've been followed. All clear. Rorschach taps my shoulder, signaling he got through. We enter. I silently close the door behind me. Rorschach slinks into the kitchen. I step in after him. Moloch is sitting there in the dark. His back is to us.

"Got your note. Been wondering why you wanted to see me." Rorschach begins to slowly circle to the front of Moloch. "Somebody tried to shoot the world's smartest man today. Hear about that?"

Moloch doesn't say anything. He remains motionless. I frown… because I can smell something. "Rorschach." I hiss.

He stops his movement, and looks toward me expectantly. My eyes are on Moloch and his eerie stillness. Not even a movement of breath. I reach out and touch his shoulder. His head lolls back to reveal a bullet wound in his forehead. Thick, red blood slithering down into his open eyes, over his nose, and toward his mouth. "Shit." I whisper. Somebody must have found out that he was our informant.

Rorschach walks to the front of Moloch. Crouches down to the balls of his feet to pick up the fallen gun,

"Still warm…" he holds it between three fingers.

"Who could have-"

"_RORSCHACH?_" we both spin around. Look toward the window. Red and blue lights are coming from outside. The shades on the window cause the light to flash into the kitchen. It sends my heart into my throat. The warble from a megaphone rings out again,

"_THIS IS THE POLICE, RORSCHACH. WE KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE. IT'S ALL OVER._"

I realize with horror that there is no way out. No way out except the way we came in. "No! No, no, no." Rorschach jumps up. He starts grabbing things. Anything to be used as a weapon. A handful of pepper goes into his pocket. My frantic hands go toward the kitchen cabinet. Rorschach is muttering to himself, berating himself.

"Framed. Set up. Never. Never surrender."

I was cursing under my breath like a secret mantra. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck." My heart was beating aggressively in my throat. My adrenaline shooting through my body so violently that my limbs were shaking. Underneath the sink, I find a canister holding chlorine. Perfect.

"_FIFTEEN SECONDS._"

I grab a water bottle from the fridge. Dump it. Shove the chlorine stick in. Open the fridge again. Please. Please. Please. OJ. Moloch has some. I grab the bottle.

"_FIVE. FOUR. OKAY. THAT'S IT. TIME'S UP AND WE'RE COMING IN. I HOPE YOU'RE READY._"

A few drops of OJ into the chlorine bottle. I look toward Rorschach as he crouches next to the wall just beside the door. I take the other side. He nods at me. I close the bottle and shake it as he lights a match. I can hear men approaching. I roll the bottle out of the kitchen and pull my gun from its holster. I count in my mind… One, two, three-

"What the hell?"

_BOOM!_

The walls in the kitchen shake from the blast. Men are screaming. Rorschach jumps out. I pull my shirt over my mouth and nose before I follow. There is a cloud of chlorine. A group of men lay in pain on the floor. More advance on us, coughing as they breathe in the poisonous fog. Rorschach sets fire to a cop as I take aim and shoot at another. They yell for backup. They weren't expecting me to be here too.

Rorschach runs up the stairs, setting it ablaze. I follow close behind, shooting men through the smoke. They can't see, but I can. I was use to fighting through fire. As Rorschach and I reach the second floor, I hide to reload as he takes out a fistful of pepper. I dart beneath the bathroom sink and start reloading my shotgun.

Over the crackling of the fire, I hear more men shouting and a tumble. I peak out just as I see a few of them fall down the stairs. I jump out of the bathroom, firing left and right. Rorschach runs into the bedroom. We are trapped. In desperation, I grab the man Rorschach must have blinded with the pepper. I hold him in front of me. My gun between his shoulders.

"My God! No! Please!"

"Shut up!" I snap, my voice slightly muffled by my shirt. I rip it off my mouth so I can speak clearly.

"BACK OFF!" I warn the rest of the men. From behind me, I hear a window break. Rorschach must have jumped. "Shit." I curse to myself.

"Give up! You're done." One of the men declares. His rifle is pointed on target as he advances on my captive and me.

I breathe heavily in panic. My eyes dart wildly around. I was parallel to the bathroom. I squint at the small window above the toilet. My captive struggles against me. I hold him closer as he whines. I lick my lips as I look back to the men. I can make it. I can. I _can_.

"Give it up, Queen."

I sneer back at the man. "Not. Yet." I point the gun toward the window. Shoot out the glass. I shove my blind captive away. Shoot him in the back, clear through his chest. He gargles and I sprint for the bathroom before he even hits the ground. I jump. Stretch my body into a straight line. I'm through the window and falling like the rain outside. I fall towards a clothesline. It breaks when I grab it and I continue to fall. A loud crash emanates as I land on my back onto a dumpster. As my body rolls off and onto the ground, my gun falls from my hand. I could care less about it now. I'm silent and still as I lay in agony.

I hear the police get closer. I stagger to get up. It's pitiful. Their nightsticks assault me. They kick my shotgun out of reach of me. They handcuff me and haul me upright. A few cops take cheap shots as I have my hands behind my back. Kicking me. Punching me in the face and stomach. Justice.

I lift my head as a cop with a large head, thick neck, and bristling mustache begins to shout at me. He looks distinctly Irish with his fire hair, green eyes, and a red, freckle-fuck covered face.

"Do you know how many of my friends you've killed, you bitch?!" he spits at me.

I just laugh. Hard enough that blood from my mouth flies out and litters his face, giving him more freckles. He flinches from the spittle and then looks at me with disgust. His ears turn red with rage. He strikes me across the face with his nightstick and I black out.

* * *

"Francise Jean Speziale AKA The Queen. Age… thirty-six. Born… December 16, 1949. Height… five-foot, seven-inches. Weight… one hundred and forty pounds. Brown hair, brown eyes."

Mugshot. Fingerprints. New clothes. Orange jumpsuit. I move in a fog. As I am escorted to my cell, voices echo through the prison. All of the incarcerated women are calling after me. Their voices melt together into one big roar. Indecipherable between one another. Words of hate and rancor. The guard chuckles at my expense as he pushes me into the cell.

"Seems like you _belonggg_ here." He drawls. "You _and_ that freak Rorschach. You won't be seeing him in a _lonnnng_ while. He's getting his fair share of justice on the _mens_ side."

I sit on my cot. Wordless. My vision glued to a crack in the wall. Expression…vacant. Justice? No. What I did was justice. Not this filth beside me. Not these scumbags around me. They didn't create justice.

"Yeah, you caused a right bit of trouble on the outside. Killin' _cops_. Killin' _innocent people_."

Never killed an innocent before. Maybe hurt them a bit, but never killed. Never killed someone who didn't deserve it. "Yeah, pretty thing you are." The guard is leering at me. He cranes his neck looking back and forth. He steps into my cell.

Wait. I have killed innocent people. Had I… forgotten? Babies. Mothers. Fathers. Boys. Girls. Screams. I can smell their blood. Burning flesh. Hear the flies buzzing. Biting. Bubbling fat.

The guard grabs my hair and pulls my head back. I gaze into nothingness. He undoes his buckle, "I bet you like it rough. A bit of pain?" All the screams are in my head. Swarming with the chant of raging prisoners. It's ringing inside of me. I want to cry and yell. Crawl away. Rip out my hair. I feel an extraordinary hate well up inside of me. A hate for myself. Hate how what's supposed to feel normal… doesn't. Hate the inability to reach satisfaction. Hate that I'm a murder. Not even human. A monster. I didn't even know who I was anymore…

And I felt hate… for every good thing in this world. Everything beautiful, innocent, and happy because they have… what I cannot. I want to trap it all. Let it rot in this cell with me. No… not this cell. The well in Vietnam. That's where I died. Bloated, ravaged, and ill. I would drag all the good, beautiful, innocent, and righteous down with me. Their fingernails would rip off as they are brought down. Lodged in the walls of the well. Screaming. Screaming. They will feel my pain. Rot like how I rot. On the inside. Slowly. Ache from loneliness like how I do. Damned with me in the dark abyss. Gazing up, eyes glistening, into the night sky. Never getting what we want.

The guard pulls his zipper down and I feel a wall break inside of me. A torrent of something horrible rushes through my sick brain. All the things I've pushed down for all these years are bubbling up. I want to cause pain and suffering. I want to make someone cry for their life.

Kill.

My fist jets out and crashes against his groin. He releases my hair in pain, and I jump up. Tackle him. Smash the side of his face repeatedly against the wall. Grind his grimy skin against it. He tries to push me off. Thrust my palm upwards and break his nose. He's yelling for help. I hear a rush of footsteps. I don't care. I grab him by the front of his uniform and hurl him at the sink. He breaks it with his skull. The guard slumps to the floor in an awkward angle. I jump on top of him. Hold his head between my hands in a vice-grip. His eyes are rolling.

I bring my mouth to his. My teeth clamp on to his bottom lip. They sink in and tear at it. Like eating a turkey leg. He's screaming into my mouth. Pull, and pull. Blood is gushing down my chin. Guards are in the cell, trying to pull me off. With a tug, his lip rips off. It hangs like a piece of meat in my mouth. It falls to the floor. He's screaming in horror. In absolute pain. There is nothing there to cover up the bottom side of his mouth. Blood is smeared on his exposed teeth and gums. I begin laughing. Maybe I'm finally crazy. This is it. This is the last stage of my life. Prison. I won't be quiet. I won't be a mindless lamb. Because I'm angry. I'm violent. Murderous. Spiteful at my incarceration. And I find it hilarious.

Strange and unusual… how the mighty fall.

The guards toss me on the cot and begin beating me with their nightsticks. I curl my body to hide from the blows. Two guards lift the lipless freak and drag him out. I smile through my pain.

* * *

A person to love more than life. More than the sun, the moon, and the stars. More than air. Because anything without that person just seems bland. Can that… be real? Or is it only from stories? Only from the fake speeches told by actors on screen? A lie? If I think about a prominent male figure in my life, there is Eddie and… only Eddie. A feeling of contempt coupled with agonizing longing fills me. Much like a sickening poison.

Why is there no one else in this world?

Why is there only Eddie?

I try to understand. Over and over again. But I never can… and I never can fight my longing for him. This is why, after we meet at the docks, I am in Eddie's bed. He has just climaxed. I dig the tips of my fingers into his back. Creating small dimples in his skin. As I'm doing this, my face nuzzles into his neck. The air is hot and uncomfortable between us. It's difficult to breathe. But I inhale deep through my nose. Slowly. Lazily. But with purpose. Eddie smells like sweat and… something else. A word I know but that doesn't make any sense. Softness. He smells like softness.

Is that even a scent? I don't care.

I close my eyes and feel myself fall into a kind of peaceful trance. Content. Like a baby sucking a thumb. Safe. The world was quiet. Washed away into white nothingness. Gone. There was only me. And only Eddie. We were not humans anymore. Not bodies. Not minds. Simple beating hearts. It's the only thing I could hear, thus... It could be the only thing of us that existed.

Slow. Melodic.

_Ba-Bump_… _Ba-Bump_… _Ba-Bump_…

Suddenly, Eddie pulls away from me. My body drains of heat. The world crashes and shouts to life. I can hear the cars outside. The shouting of people outside and from other tenants in Eddie's building. The familiar feeling of cold, aching abandonment forms deep inside of me as I watch Eddie get dressed. I bury it. Push it deeper and deeper. Then coat it with apathy. I jump off the bed and pull my underwear and shorts on. Next, my bra and top. My dog tags. I grab my boots and turn towards the bed. Eddie is sitting on it, half-dressed, staring at me. I can see beyond his scar. I can see the fondness that permeates through his features. His ever slight smile as he gazes at me. For a moment, I feel special and I smile back at him. Abruptly, he looks away. Scratches the bottom of his nose with his thumb.

"You should go."

Any emotion I felt in the previous moment is snuffed out. My face becomes blank. I sit on the bed with my back to him as I strap up my boots. What was I expecting? This is Eddie and mine's relationship. Shallow. I wished it weren't. I wished for something more. But what else is there? Eddie has a destructive life. Burning, breaking, bleeding, bashing. Care and love are foreign to Eddie. I don't know if he's ever even experienced it. So he has to destroy it. Hurt it. Turn it away. It's the only sensible thing for him to do. Hurt it before it hurts him.

My vision turns towards his bedside table. Pristinely framed is an old picture of Sally Jupiter. I feel the coldness and abandonment in me grow to a more chilling scale. Eddie doesn't keep pictures of girls that he viciously rapes. He's not that kind of guy. It makes sense what he did to her. Maybe it only makes sense to me though. I was wrong. He has felt love before. Only thing is… Eddie wants Sally to hate him just as much as he wants her to love him. That night when he was standing alone in the street watching her ride away. I witnessed it. There was an unfathomable sorrow in him.

Hurt the ones you love.

He hurt it as best he could but… it came back and hit him worse.

How do you love a person? Touch them tenderly, hold them, buy them cards and chocolates on holidays? He doesn't do that. He doesn't know how. Honestly, neither do I. What is it supposed to be? How do you _know_ you're in love? I don't think I've ever loved a single person in my life.

When I finish my boots, I stand from Eddie's bed. He stands also. Ripping off the sheets and carelessly dropping them to the floor in the process. "Well," he lights a cigar. Smoke pinches through his lips and cigar, forming large puffs. With a CLINK his zippo closes. "I have to be somewhere soon…" He's not looking at me.

All I know is… I hate him. I hate him more than anyone in this world, but he's the only person I want. The only person I crave to be around, to be stuck in the mud with. Damned in hell with. Such profound feelings can only mean love, or what I thought love was. And I don't want it. I despise myself for it. The word rose like vomit in my mouth. _Love_. Vile and malicious. I knew it was hopeless. I knew I'd never be what I wanted, or have what I wanted.

It was something that not even Dr. Manhattan could change.

Before I leave the room, I give the picture on the side table one last look.

Eddie loved only one woman in this world, and that woman was not _me_.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen.**

**A/N- Not alot of Eddie in this one. But I promise in the next one.  
:]**

**Anyways, enjoy.**

* * *

My new cell is in the psychotic ward. Suicidals, addicts, and plain crazies accompany me here. They yell a lot. Indecipherable cries of pain and misery. The man in the cell next to mine is especially annoying. Yelling things in German. He keeps me up at night.

Outside my cell, a guard sits in a chair. In case of emergency, his nightstick sits heavily across his lap. His job is to watch me. I pass time by staring boldly back at him. My gaze apparently makes him agitated. After a while he'll yell at me to back away from the bars. I comply, with a smile.

There is something… wrong with me on the inside. Something has changed. All I think about is how I've done more bad than good. Murdered people… children. I remember when I was seventeen. I remember how clear everything felt to me. I _knew_ who I was, and I _knew_ the type of person I wanted to be. Then things… just turned. I became something terrible. I'm in jail for inhumane crimes against the very same people I once swore to protect.

Nothing is bright anymore.

A swirling empty void fills my pathetic body. I bring my knees to my chest and duck my head, trying to hide from it. But I can't. I knew it back in the foxholes of Nam. I tried to ignore it. Tried to disprove it. Tried to hope there was something _more_.

I am alone.

There are people around me. Rapists, murders, gang leaders, and cops. But they don't matter. No one _cares_ if I live or die. No one is there to help you. No God. No friends. Alone in a world congested with other lonely people. At the end of his life, Eddie had no one. None of the other vigilantes blinked at his death. They simply didn't care. I slump against my cell wall.

Dark thoughts enter my mind of how much of a failure I am. I _failed_ Eddie. The only friend I had. The only person who cared about my well being. The only person who didn't make me feel alone… and I couldn't even bring justice to his death.

I think it's normal for a person to yearn for some kind of… acknowledgement. Is it so wrong? To want someone to at least miss you if you were to die? But, who could love… a murderer? A feeling of despair begins to drown me and I suddenly miss Eddie more than I ever have before. The only person who cared if I were to die… and he's gone.

Forever.

And ever.

And ever.

And ever…

I wail and begin scratching violently at my face. Aggravate my bruises. Reopen cuts. Hurt physically like how I hurt emotionally. There is something wrong with the Queen on the inside. I know it.

* * *

I have an appointment with my psychiatrist. I'm in a straightjacket and bite-prevention mask to prevent another 'incident'. I'm in a bare room with a two-way mirror behind me where the guards watch us carefully. In front of me, across the steel table, is my psychiatrist. Doctor Savourn. He's young, perhaps in his 30s like myself. Thin and gangly with glasses. He looks up from a file he was perusing. I feel dead on the inside. It must translate into my stare. Whenever he looks me in the eye, he becomes nervous. Pushing it aside, he tries to be professional.

"Well, I've been speaking to Walter's psychiatrist. He's claimed that Walter responded positively to the inkblots. So, I'd like to try that next."

There is something funny about a man wearing a suit speaking politely and amicably to a woman in a straight jacket. From his voice, one would think we were discussing the weather instead of my insanity.

"Who's Walter Kovacs?" I ask.

Doc looks surprised.

"W-Walter Kovacs?" he stutters. His quick hands go through a folder located to his left.

"Walter Kovacs, otherwise known as your fellow vigilante… Rorschach."

He pushes a file in front of me. A man with a bruised and cut face stares back up at me. He was distinctly ugly with high-prominent cheekbones, thin lips, freckles, and eyes that gave a lazy, soulless stare. His curly, red hair sets me off. I laugh and laugh. The feared Rorschach was just a short, ugly ginger. I think a lot of people assumed he was more tough looking. I know I did. Doc clears his throat, somewhat confused by my laughter. He pulls away the file.

"Yes, well, um-"

Going through his briefcase he pulls out a few papers. Shuffles them and then pushes one towards me. It's an inkblot. Doc thoughtfully taps his pen against his lips, "Tell me what you see, Francise." The utterance of my name causes me to flinch, but I let it slide. I look down at the paper. Nothing comes to mind. Do I lack an imagination? I see only random black splotches. My eyes flicker back up towards Doc. He gives a nod of encouragement.

"Walter Kovacs."

Doc's lips twitch into a small frown. He takes away the picture and replaces it with a new one from the pile. "And this one?"

Without skipping a beat, without looking down at it, I reply: "Walter Kovacs."

I laugh at my own joke, while Doc just seems disappointed and frustrated. He puts away the inkblots, "Perhaps, um, those weren't suited for you." He turns back towards me and straightens his posture,

"Now, Francise, I'd like to-"

I feel a twitch in my emotions. My anger has risen.

"My name's not _FRANCISE_!" I snarl at him.

My outburst causes Doc to jump. He attempts to regain his composure. Fixes his tie in an uneasy manner. "Francise is the name you were born with. The name your parents chose. It's what I'd prefer to call you. May I?"

I recognize this technique. He thinks that asking for my permission so politely will make me feel bad and cave. It only irritates me more.

"When you're older, you're a different person than the one you were _born_ as. If my parents walked passed me today, they wouldn't recognize or remember me. Neither I would to them. Just because I was given that name, and I was _born_ with it, doesn't mean a thing. The name Francise is _void_. So… no. You may _not_ call me Francise, because that is not who I am."

Doc becomes flustered. He begins to nervously touch his papers, trying to hold on to some kind of order. He avoids my gaze as he speaks, "Well –err- calling you Queen would be an unhealthy support of your fantasies. So I will call you Francise."

I almost laugh at him. These types of people don't care about what you _want_. They just pretend. Doctor Savourn doesn't want to help me. He doesn't care about my feelings. He wants to be famous. He wants to know the mind behind the mask. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Doc leans forward, laces his fingers together, "I'd like to talk about your childhood,-" he hesitates for a moment. "Francise. Can you do that for me?"

I don't respond. Just stare. My chapped lips pull up in a sneer at his persistence on calling me my birth name. My eyes follow his Adam's apple as it bobs up and down.

"Francise?" his lips make a twitch of uncertainty.

I lean back in my chair while giving a sigh of irritation, "It should all ready be in that little file of yours…"

"Erm- yes. But I'd like to discuss your feelings on the matter. Maybe explain why you decided to leave at such a young age."

I remain quiet, shifting uncomfortably in my straightjacket trying to get myself in a good position. I have not thought about my childhood in so long. It felt like I was trying to remember some other person's life… Not my own. None of it felt connected to who I am now.

"It says that you're parents divorced when you were three, and you were then raised by your mother-"

I remember her… my mother. Her hair was like mine. Dark brown and curly. I remember her dresses. Her perfume that she kept on her vanity. When I was younger, the bottles would remind me of crystal treasure. I remember those things _distinctly_. Stupid, pointless things.

I remember… walking into the living room to find her sitting by herself. Her eyes lost looking at something in the distance. A glass of alcohol in one hand. I remember, she never dated or tried to remarry. When she would finally notice that I was in the room, she would hide the glass. Smile at me. A genuine smile. But it seemed hurt. _She_ was hurt. When I was young, I never realized how sad she was. I didn't really understand.

"Francise? Would you like to talk about your mother?"

A secretary. That was her job. She seemed so miserable… and lonely. I didn't want to be like her. I remember… that's why I left. I was scared I would end up just like her. Depressed with the sameness of my life day after day. Drink hard liquor whenever I was sad. To be a nobody. A nothing. To be…

Alone.

Somewhat ironic. All the places life took me, with all the people I've met, and all the experiences I've had… I still ended up just like my fucking mother. All of that running… for _nothing_.

I look slowly back up at Doc, "No. I _don't_ want to talk about her." My voice is sharpened with a dangerous edge. Doc looks me in the eye again and becomes nervous.

"If you'd be m-more comfortable sharing more recent memories, that's fine. Would you-" he pushes up his glasses. "-be comfortable discussing Vietnam?"

I'm thrown in a barely suppressed rage. My face is getting very hot. Doc sees this and quietly tries to avert it, "N-Never mind. We don't-"

"I'm guessing by how nonchalantly you _discuss_ it-" I hiss at him. "-that you didn't serve in Nam."

The corners of his lips quiver up and down. Pathetic.

"Oh – um – no. Flat feet, I'm afraid. I was in the National Guard. Lucked out."

There is a long silence between us. I feel murderous towards him. _Lucked out_, he says.

"What do you wanna know about Nam?" Doc perks up, relieved that I have not broke out into something violent. His fingers lace together. His perfectly rounded, manicured nails reflect the florescent light above us. He's back to his frail confidence, "From my observation, the war in Vietnam may have caused some trauma. I'd like to know more of your experiences so that I may help you."

I let out a snort. Help. He doesn't need to _help_ me.

"Francise." Doc tries to regain my attention.

"I would like to talk about James Anthony Murphy."

My gaze darkens. I lean closer to the table. The corners of Doc's lips are twitching up and down nervously. "What about him?" I hiss. Doc's fingers pinch at the side of his glasses. Making sure they are straight.

"Since your arrest, members of your old company have come forward and claimed that you murdered your fellow soldier, James Murphy."

So, they finally told… No surprise. Eddie is dead and I am in jail. No one else is left to keep them in line.

I give Doc a tired smile, "Yeah, I killed him." Comes my apathetic confession. Doc looks concerned. His brows knitting together as he hears this. "What caused you, Francise?" I remain quiet. Refusing to answer his question. How do I tell a person… How do I tell a person who has never been to Hell what it's like? How can I express the feelings I felt, or lack thereof, that caused me to murder… when he has never felt them? I feel frustration fester inside my brain.

"Francise?"

"You wanna talk about Nam." I state slowly. "You wanna talk about murder. I'll tell ya about Nam. I'll tell ya about murder." Doc gives me an encouraging nod.

I start off easily, without feeling shame. Without feeling uncomfortable or bound. "I've taken babies away from their crying mothers. I've shot too many kids to count. And all of them look the same when dead. Naked, with flies. I've burned people alive in their own homes. I've seen boys, no older than twenty, die in those jungles. I've seen the bloody insides of my comrades."

Something flashes in Doc's eyes. I can barely recognize it. Horror. Maybe this isn't what he was expecting.

"I've killed woman, children, and babies. All those boys die for an empty cause, because only a few years after the war… No one _cares_. No one cares that kids were murdered. No one cares that boys were sent off to their death. No one cares that I killed a _fellow soldier_, as you call it. Because when you're too far away from it, death means nothing. And when you're sitting in it, up to your eyeballs in it, death means nothing either."

I blink at Doc. Slowly. Languidly. I am brought back to the day of the truck. Sitting with the sun burning my skin. My lips were dry and flaky like paper. Seeing the children running out into the dirt road. The world no longer turned. There was no longer an America. No longer a blue sky. No longer any justice. No longer _anything_. The world had compressed onto that small dirt road. Leading nowhere. Murphy.

"I killed Murphy because… after killing so many people… life meant nothing to me. Maybe I should have felt a difference between killing him and killing a Charlie… But, I didn't. Murphy was a bad man." I nod to myself. "Did terrible things. He killed people… because he _liked_ to kill people. Like, there was a vacuum of pain and misery inside of him and he frantically wanted to suck in as many people as he could."

Doc's eyes are wide and glassy. His mouth slack. I frown deeply.

"And you… You will smile at me and ask to discuss Vietnam as if you were asking what I ate for breakfast."

He seems to snap out of whatever trance I put him in. "Francise, I didn't mean to offend!" Doc tries to calm me.

"You don't have to _MEAN_ anything but you _DO_! Everything about you offends me, Doc." I state matter-of-factly. "Your fake presentation of professionalism, while you can't even look into my eyes… _offends_ me. You seem to think you can manipulate me into telling you what you want. So you can publish your cash-cow story into as many medical journals as you can. _That_ offends me!"

Doc is panicked. His eyes continuously dart from me to the two-way mirror behind me.

"I'm offended by your fake, dry personality which coincides with your equally fake, dry _life_. I'm offended because I've spent half my life for what was supposed to be a good cause. Only to be beaten by the people I've tried to protect. The same people who praised me like sheep and called me a war hero. Then I'm thrown in jail and left to rot. I'm _offended_ that you presume that you are _safe_ to be around me."

Doc's face pales.

"When in fact, if I wanted to, I could dislocate my arms and choke you with my own straightjacket at this very second." The door bangs loudly behind me as the two guards rush in and hoist me to my feet. "I became just like Murphy, Doc! Don't you get it?"

"That's enough, Speziale! Back to your cell." The one guard declares in his gruff, fat-man voice.

I laugh as they drag me away. Doc is still staring at me, his jaw hanging.

"Don't you get the joke, Doc?" I shout just as the door is about to close.

"WHY AREN'T YOU LAUGHING?!"

* * *

What are we born to do?

I stare down at the tub. A young girl, age five, is on the bathroom floor. Her face pale and her lips blue. Dark hair clinging to her face. A slightly older boy, age seven, is slumped over the tub. His head still in the water. In the living room, there is a baby with a plastic bag over her head.

Were these children born… to die? And nothing else?

"Father took cowards way out." Rorschach's gravelly voice awakens me for a moment.

"Pistol to head." The frustration and anger in his voice is distinct. I share his feelings. Three children are dead and the person responsible all ready took his own life. Someone needs to be punished. Their deaths need to be recognized.

I crouch down. My gloved hand pushes a strand of hair out of the girl's face. Rorschach pulls the boy out of the tub and lays him next to his sister. Hands on chests. Washcloths over faces. Rorschach leaves the bathroom and returns with the baby, but doesn't remove the bag. Half of it is stuck down her throat. He lays her gingerly between her brother and sister. I put a ratty towel over her. Then, we just stand there. Staring at the carrion bodies. Hearing the drip, drip, drip of the deadly tub faucet.

"Retribution." Growls Rorschach.

I turn towards him, "This apartment belongs to Paul's brother?"

A pregnant pause. We seem to be thinking the same thing. He tilts his head to the side,

"_Hurmm._"

We wait for what feels like hours. Rorschach is hiding in the kitchen. My position is right beside the door. Finally, my ears pick up the soft tread of footsteps. The jingling of keys beyond the door. I stand with my back to the wall. My eyes cast straight forward. I feel no fear. No anxiety. My heartbeat is steady.

The door opens. I move closer against the wall so that the door doesn't hit my boots. A dirty hand is on the door. It swings back to reveal a man in his 40s. He's wearing messy work overalls. His skin is smudged with dirt. He walks into the house without noticing me.

"Paulie?" he calls out while absentmindedly picking at his fingernails. He heads towards the bathroom. Rorschach is standing in the kitchen doorway. We watch as he pushes open the bathroom door.

"Paulie! What do you want to grab for dinn-JESUS CHRIST!!" he screams.

As he stumbles out, James Siccamore finally realizes he has vigilantes in his house. He pushes himself into a corner in panic. He has nowhere to go. We are in front of his only exit. "Oh God! Oh God!" cries James. I feel merciless as I advance on him. "Please! I didn't do anything! Where's Paulie?!"

"Dead. Shot self in head." Rorschach's voice erupts behind me.

"Not before killing kids." Is his vicious growl. James' eyes widen. His body slides to the ground. I grab him by his overalls and hoist him back up again. "No! Please! I didn't know!" Angry, I slam him into the wall. Then spin him and toss him across the room. He lands in a heavy thud but quickly scrambles away on his hands and knees. He backs himself up against a radiator.

"You _knew_ he illegally took his kids away from their mother! You allowed him to stay in your home!" I roar. Rorschach and me stand above him. James shakes his head, murmuring "No, no, no." as he sobs. "She n-never let's Paulie see the kids. I ju-just thought-"

I slam the heel of my boot into his knee. There is a crunching sound and James screams. Rorschach jumps on him. Handcuffs him to the radiator. Rorschach crouches down in front of him.

"Two children dead. One baby. Could have prevented it. Could have reported brother to police."

James' face is shiny with sweat. His expression is distraught. I feel no pity. Halfheartedly, I stare down at my brass knuckles. The surface is slick and pristine. The engraved crowns remind me of who I am. Without looking up, I whisper, "You're going to pay for you brother's sins, James."

And hour and a half later, I am sitting in the bathroom. My body slumped lazily against the toilet. The dead bodies of the children lay beside me. I raise my fist. My brass knuckles are covered in blood. Chunks of skin are caught in the engraved crown. I feel blood on my face, trickling down towards my neck. Something else. I'm crying. I don't want to cry and, in frustration, I clench and unclench my fists. The wet gloves cause a squeaking sound to distract me. Distract me from what? What's wrong with me? I feel something terrible shoot through my body. It makes my entire body ache. Makes me cry harder.

My redemption is far-gone. I thought I could be better. Be the hero I'm supposed to be. But nothing feels right. It all feels wrong in some way. My hands grab my face in despair. Causing more blood to be smeared on my face. I wanted to make a difference but… there is none. I remove my hands from my face and stare at the bodies of the children. There will be more. There will always be more. No matter what I do, or try to do. No matter what _all of us_ try to do.

"_Hurmm_." Rorschach is standing in the doorway. I don't look at him. I feel ashamed and weak.

"Rorschach?" silence answers me. "What do you feel?" My voice is shaky. My lips are quivering. I don't know why.

"Justification." Is his calm answer.

I close my eyes. The end feels so near to me. I can't keep doing this. I can't see anymore dead kids. I can't keep fighting something that won't die. I'm not like Rorschach. He won't give up. He'll keep fighting the tidal waves of filth until the day he perishes. I can't. I just can't do this anymore.

"Cops will be here soon." He shoves his hands into his coat pockets. "Must leave."

_Must leave._


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen. The only character of my creation is Q (Queen/Francise).**

**A/N: Sorry this took so long. Once again, I am not abandoning this fic.  
Chapters will just take longer for me to write. On another note...  
There are no active Eddie fics out. I'm kinda bummed.  
:/ **

* * *

Sirens are blaring. Screaming. Gun shots. Skin against skin. Riots. Fire. The protection grid is overridden. My cell door, along with every single one on my block, opens. I step out of my solitary confinement. The other prisoners stick their heads out. Afraid. Overwhelmed with the freedom and the chaos that is around them. I am not. I run with a destination. I duck in and out of the fights. Closer and closer I get to the men's ward. There are dead guards and prisoners everywhere. I run passed psychologist offices. _Savourn_. I stop. Punching through the glass window, I reach for the doorknob. There is a scream from inside. I unlock the door and remove my hand. I stare at my hand. For moment, it looks normal. Then thin red lines appear and split open. Blood flowing freely from them. Down my wrist and arm. I am not entirely concerned.

I open the door with my foot and enter the dark office. There is no one is sight. My eyes flicker down to the large desk.

"Doctor…" I drawl.

With my bloody hand, I pick up a pair of scissors off the desk. With wild aggression, I flip over the desk to reveal the man I knew to be hiding there. Doctor Savourn screams and tries to get away. I grab him by his hair; hold the sharp blade of the scissors in front of his eye.

"You have something of mine! I want it back!"

"Yes! Just don't hurt me!" he pleads.

I let go of him as he fumbles with a mountain of boxes. From the light shining through one of the windows, I can see that there is a stream of blood coming from his scalp and running down his neck. His clothes are messy and his tie ripped. As he grabs a specific box and turns back towards me, I can see his glasses are broken. I almost feel sorry for the man.

Tossing away the scissors, I snatch my box and rip the lid off. My outfit… But more importantly…

I push things aside and feel the bottom of the box. When my hand comes back out, it is clutching a smiley face pin. I forget that my hand is bleeding and caress the pin with my fingers. My blood is now smeared on it, along with Eddie's. The sound of whimpering brings my attention back to Savourn. His eyes are darting from me and then to his doorway.

"Please! You have to help me!" he suddenly lunges at me. Grips me like an infant that I can't push away. "Please! Those people out there are going to kill me!" Purposely using my grossly bloody hand, I shove his face away. "Shut up!" I snap. I am finally able to fling him to the floor.

"_Those_ people will kill you?" I leer at him. "Do you forget why I'm here, Doc? Why I was put in that maddening cell? Or has the fact that I use to be a hero blinded you from the fact that I can kill you right now?" Savourn starts sobbing with fear again. I grab him by his ripped tie.

"You wanted to make money off my misery." I accuse. Savourn shakes his head violently in defiance. "No! Never! I swear."

"Q!"

An old, familiar voice. Turning my head, I see NiteOwl and Silk Spectre in the doorway. They put their suits back on? And they came… for me?

Dan is looking suspiciously between Savourn and me. He holds out a hand, beckoning me to come with them. "We still need to find Rorschach! Come on!" Laurie shouts over the loud riot. My attention returns to Savourn. He looks relieved that help has arrived. His face is covered with sweat and my blood. His nose is running and there is spit on his lips. What a sad young man. Releasing his tie, I give him an unexpected shove. Pushing the man into the mountain of boxes. I turn on my heel. Box and pin in hand, I head for the door. "No! Wait! You have to help me!" I can hear him clamoring out of the mass of boxes. Without looking back, I answer his plea.

"Help yourself."

* * *

I am with Eddie in his apartment. I tell him how nothing makes sense anymore. What we're doing. What we're supposed to be doing. It's all foggy. I murdered a man. Violently. Unspeakably. I feel hatred for myself that I couldn't help those kids… that baby. I can't do this anymore, I tell him. He's leaning against his kitchen wall. Shadows delve into the craters of his scars, making Eddie look ancient and sinister beneath the light of the room. I don't understand anymore. I ask how can he still do it? Eddie smiles, as if he knows something I don't. His white teeth gleaming beneath his mustache.

"Justice."

He chuckles at his answer. As if something is amusing to that notion.

Is justice a joke? Maybe it's all a joke. Everything… Anything we ever valued or struggled for. Nothing. Just a monstrous gag. Is that why he is the Comedian? Is that why he laughs? Because, in the end, all of our lives have no meaning?

I tell him that I don't think there is any justice. If there is random… sporadic… injustice… then, in rationality, justice must not exist in this world. Eddie rubs the scruff under his chin, "Sure it exists. There is justice comin' for the bad and there is justice coming for me and you. All of us, Q. We all die. Why are you so worried about redemption?" he shrugs his shoulders. "Why are you so worried about doing things _right_? Justice comes for us all, Q."

I still don't understand. In my eyes, we are working for something that leads to a dead end. People trying to find meaning… in a meaningless time in history. The world isn't supposed to be this dark. This hopeless. Every day people see the news of doomsday by nuclear war. And all we can do is nothing. Work and live not knowing if we are going to be ripped apart in a fiery blast. Crushing depression sucks away everything inside of me. If we are all going to die in this horrible way, what's the point to anything? What's the point in being a hero, what's the point of doing right, what's the point in leading a normal life? No answer comes to me, and I feel so crushingly alone.

Life isn't supposed to be this way, I say. Eddie asks me then how _is_ it supposed to be? I don't say anything. Because I don't know. I don't _know_ how the world is supposed to be. I only _know_ what I _know_… and I only know how the world _shouldn't_ be. I don't think Eddie understands… Or maybe… he does. I once read something along the lines of… Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. Eddie is a monster. He is what he kills. If we are going to die from nuclear war, then why not be a monster? Become what you hate?

Once again, there are no answers. I can only _feel_. Feel inside me that I can't be like Eddie. I tried. It tears away at me. Like a cheese grater spinning inside me, shredding away at my organs, my muscles, my skin. I can only hug myself tightly until this image disintegrates from my mind. I crept and followed him into the rabbit hole of I Don't Know Where to find some logic in madness. There is none. Perhaps that's what I did. I stared daringly and dumbly into the abyss. It stared back and crept inside.

I begin to wonder what life will be like if I quit. Eddie once told me that people like us, no matter how hard we try… we can't be like _them_. We can't be normal. We can't be _nobodies_. I try to imagine working a long hard day, coming home to people who love you, eating a nice warm meal. Talking. Smiling. Being nobodies… sure looks better than this. This… false life. But at the same time, I know I will never have that. I will never have an innocent sit down dinner, and a loving family. Such simple pleasantries that have robbed from me… Because of what I've chosen to do. Oh, God. Oh, God. What have I done to my life? I want to cry this question out. But, I know it is no use. There is no God. The closest thing we have to God is Manhattan. A frightening thought considering his continuous decline in apathy towards human life. What a world. The most intelligent and super-human man alive… doesn't even give a shit about us.

I ask Eddie if he has nightmares like I do. About the kids in Vietnam. About all the people we've killed. It clings like goo to walls of my brain. Flashes like lightning in my eyes when I least expect it. This is what people must mean when they say they are haunted. Is there something wrong with me? Why doesn't Eddie feel the way I do? Maybe… I'm just crazy.

Eddie pushes off the wall and walks towards me. He isn't looking at me, but at my neck. He reaches out for the dog tags. Rubs his thumb against the metal, much like I have done on numerous occasions.

"No." he lets them fall back against my neck.

Our gazes catch each other. There is something deep in his eyes. And I know all at once that his answer was a lie. I can see my reflection in the dark glass. See how he sees me… I am a disgrace. I am ashamed of myself. Of all the things I've done. Of the lie that I have lived. The damage I have made to my soul.

He tells me that he will be leaving again next week. And when he comes back it will be to a different apartment. One more upscale. My eyes wander to the floor. I have no friends in this world. I feel out of touch with everyone. Too far away. I wanted to make the world a better place. I ended up destroying myself and everything around me. How did things get this way? How did everything become so messed up? All these horrible, accidental turns in my life… These vile contingencies. They have left me on a lost road. A road that ends like everyone else's… in a nuclear fire…

I close my eyes as Eddie's hand cups my cheek. His thumb softly rubbing my temple. The warmth emanating from it. The rough calluses of his fingers and palm. I savor the touch. I need to. Some days he will be cruel. Dismiss me. Push me away. Other days, he will comfort me. Make me believe that maybe he does love me. I still feel so painstakingly alone… even when he is this close.

In the corner of the room, I see Sally Jupiter's picture… and I wonder why there isn't a picture of me somewhere. I tear slides down my cheek and on to Eddie hand. Am I so pathetic… to want such a thing? Eddie's thumb quickly wipes the tear. It's all a lie.

"Don't be blue, doll face."

He asks me to come out with him for one last night before I decide to quit. It will be like the good old days, he says.

I know it's all a lie… this _relationship_ we have. I wish Eddie were not the only one who cares about me in this entire world. That's what's so tragic and ugly about it. That's why I cling. But I can't anymore.

* * *

It's 1am.

I feel like I am on autopilot.

The fall wind chills my cheeks and lungs. It whistles in my ear as it gives my body an aggressive push, only to calm down a moment later. I push my hair out of my face and stop walking. I have nowhere to go. No home. No… nothing. My leather gloves squeak as I clench my fists. I look at my hands. My brass knuckles with crown imprints. They are still chunked with coagulated blood and strands of hair. I can remember when Dan first gave it to me. My new hero outfit. I felt proud and strong when I wore it. I felt like I was truly me. The Queen. Q. Not Francise.

Now… there is no feeling. I stare and see only a stupid outfit. No longer the Queen. No longer Q. Definitely not Francise. Then who am I suppose to be?

"HEY, HERO!"

My eyes widen as I hear a rushing crowd of footsteps behind me. My brain is taken over by primal, automatic actions.

Spin around just in time to catch a baseball bat in my fist. On the other end, a Knot Top member. Behind him, the gang is running towards me. I kick out. Break his kneecap. He collapses to the floor. Using his bat, I defend myself against the closest gang member. He's holding a knife. Hit his hand. He drops it. Swing the bat towards his face. The wood breaks as he falls. I duck in time for a gang member throwing a punch. Crouch to the ground and kick out his footing.

Before he can get back up, I stop on his throat. Hear a crunch. I go to the next member. He looks at his fellow members and cowers before me. I want to kill him. I can see the sweat glistening in the grooves of his ugly mug. He holds a hand out. No, please! He cries out. My rage evaporates into disgust and pity. I can choose. I shake my head at him and turn away. I don't need to do this bullshit anymore. Suddenly, I hear a very familiar voice call out my name.

"Q!"

A loud bang. There is an extraordinary pain in my abdomen. I twist around and fall on my back. I'm sweating and shaking. I clutch myself as my vision keeps blackening. I've never felt anything like this before. Faintly, in the background on my agony, I can hear a tussle. Then there is someone hovering over me. "Jesus Christ!"

It's him. He grips my thigh and I notice for the first time how my skin down there feels wet and warm. He's cursing and trying to tell my something. I can't hear. My vision blackens. Time skips. Like a movie cutting through scenes. I can hear Eddie running with me in his arms. Cut. Bright lights. People swarming around me. Cut. Someone is trying to stick something in my arm. I fight back. There are a lot of voices. Very close. Circled around me. I thrash around at them. They are holding down my arms and legs. I'm screaming for them to stop. To leave me alone. Sobbing. My heart is beating so fast in panic. I feel a need to vomit. My vision won't focus. There are people shouting over one another.

We have to get it out. Hold her still. Drug her. Q, stop it. It's all ready dead, we have to get it out of her. Calm down, Q.

Cut.

* * *

I feel myself being sucked out of the darkness. My body is tired and my mind is groggy… As if I've slept for a week. I open my eyes. Stark white ceiling. It makes my eyes water. I can smell… cleaning products. Sick people. Dying people. Beside me there is a soft conversation. Turn my head. Eddie is in his civilian clothes. A hand rubbing his chin as he speaks to a white haired doctor. The doctor shakes his head and gives Eddie a sympathetic pat on the arm before walking out of the room. Eddie remains standing. Staring at the ground as his hand grips his chin.

It takes a moment for my brain to run. To remember… I was shot. But Eddie was there. He saved me.

"You followed me?"

Eddie's head snaps towards me. He nods, giving a mumbled 'yeah' as he comes to take a seat in the chair next to my bed. I remember a long time ago… when I was laying in alley garbage… Eddie told me he always kept a close eye on me. How many times has he followed me? But I push the question aside. More important things need to be known.

"The doctor… does he know who I am? My identity?"

Eddie shakes his head, "Don't worry about him. He's an old friend. He knows when to keep quiet."

I nod slowly. "What happened, Eddie?" I'm almost afraid to know.

"Well… You were jumped by Knot Tops. You seemed to be takin' care of them, so I didn't interfere. Then that last one shot ya after you turned your back. I took care of him and came for you. By that time, you were going in and out of consciousness. You got hit in your back so there was blood comin' from the wound. Luckily the bullet went straight through your abdomen. But… there was also blood coming out from your shorts, Q."

The last sentence is so awkward that I blush. But the muscle gives an aggressive twitch in Eddie's jaw. He isn't looking at me. Something is wrong. I frown at him.

"What does that mean?" I ask urgently. Eddie lets out a long breath and runs a hand through his graying hair.

"You were carrying a kid, Q."

The world suddenly implodes in choking silence. The gears of my mind have shut down. I sink into my bed. My lips move as if to say '_what?_', but there is no voice. Eddie still isn't looking at me.

"You weren't very far along. But the shock killed it. They had to operate on you to get it out… Or it could've kill you."

I am lost in the buzz of my own brain. I was pregnant. My own baby died inside of me... Because I'm a vigilante. If I wasn't, the Knot Tops wouldn't have targeted me. This keeps blaring in my mind. The world is tumbling out of control. How could this happen? Did this really happen? Am I dreaming? Eddie was right. Justice comes for everyone. My child died because I've killed other peoples children. Other peoples mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters.

Eddie makes a sound of strangled frustration. He asks me if I have been with someone else. I can't speak. Only shake my head. It was his. He lets out a breath. He says he's sorry. He says he shouldn't have been careless.

"I shouldn't have done a lot of things." Eddie takes my hand. I think of how I could have been a mother. Eddie as the baby's father. Parents that have done unspeakable things. As I look at Eddie, the memory of him gunning down the pregnant Vietnamese woman comes to mind. What a horrible family to grow up with. A tear runs down my cheek. Probably better off dead, I say.

Eddie looks forlorn. And gives me a look that says, _'Why would you say that?'_ But he knows it's true. The more Eddie stares at me, the more I wish him to go away. To get as far away from him as possible. On the inside, I want to blame him. But I can't. It's not his fault. I just want to be alone. I slide my hand out of his. Curl into a ball away from him.

"Don't be that way, doll face." There is a tint of anger and frustration in his voice.

My hand clutches my pillow. There is a mixture of terrible emotions inside of me. Rage, hate, misery, and plain self-loathing. I feel so ashamed. So… disgusting. I can't stand him just staring at me. Just go, I say.

"I care 'bout ya, Q. You know that."

Don't say that. Don't.

"I can make it better. I can take care of you."

I flip over. My face red and angry and struggling not to let tears slip. "Don't say those things, Eddie!" he frowns at me, taken by surprise by my out lash. I have never spoken to him like I am now. "Take care of me? How are you gunna do that, huh? What do you think we are? Some normal, sweet couple?! We're fucking not! Don't make those promises to me that you're gunna take care of me, like maybe you love me, when it's not fucking real."

"Q…"

He tries to reach for me but I shove his hand away. I can't do this anymore. I can't. Him playing with me. Him using me. Me coming back for more. Because that slab of misery I call 'Me and Eddie' is all I've got. I'm sick of it. "Who says it's not real? Who says I don't _love_ ya, huh?!" he snaps back, angry now. I run a hand through my hair in anxiety.

"Are kidding, Eddie? You love _Sally Jupiter_. If this was real… If you loved me, I wouldn't feel like such shit all the time." I practically jam my knuckle into my eye socket to keep back the tears. I've always known it, but saying it aloud that he loves another woman… when I always wanted that love… It's just destroying me. I can actually feel the sadness pulsate through my body and tingle at my fingertips. I hate it. I don't want it.

His lips are pursed and through his eyes, I can see his mind racing. Struggling to say something back. But there is nothing… because it's true. Like a bull, he exhales heavily through his nose. His fist is clutching his pant leg. He's trying to control his temper.

"But I do _care_… and I _do_ wanna take care of you. Why can't you get that through your numb brain?" his hisses through clenches teeth. I shake my head. I don't know what to think.

"You weren't like the others. You didn't fall for the shit that the other morons did. You saw the world like I did. That's why I cared about ya, Q. I'm not a man who has friends. I have lists and lists of enemies. So, when I found a companion… Well, that's what you are to me, Q."

I shake my head again. Maybe if he had said this sooner, I would have told him how much he meant to me. That he was my only friend. That he was the only one who understood me… Because I know that's what he's trying to say to _me_. It's comforting… But it's too late. It will always be too late. Just go, I repeat. I see that queer muscle twitch in his jaw, "Fine." He quickly exits. When he leaves through my room door, he slams it so hard that it cracks the wall.

With that, he was gone. Maybe… for good.

**

* * *

**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen. Only Francise Speziale/Q/The Queen.  
**_A/N- Sorry for the hold up. Same excuse as usually. I haven't given up the story, it just takes me longer to be satisfied with  
what I'm writing. I do apologize! Thank you for those who have reviewed. Enjoy._

"Nothing is right anymore  
Even worse, nothing is wrong."  
- Anonymous.

* * *

I hold myself back. I recall telling Dan that he would never be able to put the suit away for good. This is who he is… Who _we_ are. I stare at the two of them. The brightness in their eyes. The jubilation in their features. They've really missed it. They mow down any one in their path. Any one who comes toward them. It's as if they are young again. Strong. Masterful. Energetic. It's like the parting of the Red Sea. I, in the middle, walk down an open path while hugging my box. On either side of me, beaten and bloody (some dead) prisoners. Pieces of newsprints and toilet paper flutter down and around us like rain. Down the long hallway, I see the familiar outfit of-

"Rorschach!" Laurie calls out.

He turns his whole body towards us as we run towards him. I stare at his mask, still trying to comprehend that the man I saw in the picture, is the man before me. He nods at me and acknowledges Dan and Laurie by name. "Excuse me. Must visit men's room." He angrily palms the door open. Laurie curses and makes a groan of impatience. The door swings slowly. A pause… and then the loud, distinct sound of a flushing toilet. Rorschach marches out and walks passed us. We follow his lead.

"Archie's on the roof. This way." Dan kicks open a door leading to a stairway. Laurie jogs in after him. I turn my head towards Rorschach. His head tilted as he stares at me. My eyes follow the continuous shifting and changing of his mask. He looks downward.

"Found psych-profile in doctor's office when I was looking for my face..." I frown at him. "Yours." He added. My face becomes hard and I begin grinding my teeth. Rorschach takes a few steps up the stairs, so now he is looking down at me. "Read about emergency hospital visit. Dead fetus. Brought there by Edward Blake… Suspected you were more than friends." Rorschach growls at me.

"What are you implying?" I snap back.

"Jealous lover. Bitter that the Comedian could not commit. Pictures of Jupiter Senior and Junior were all over Blake's apartment…"

My mouth opens and then closes. I know the reason why he had pictures of the two women. But, it's not my place, and _never_ will be, to tell people about Eddie's daughter. I have nothing to defend myself with. No alibi. Though, I don't think I could have killed Eddie if I tried. Even in his old age. I would always lose to that bastard.

"I didn't kill him." I state slowly.

"_Hurrmm_." Is Rorschach's reply of dissatisfaction.

I glare at him for a moment. Too much a tale to tell. Why bother to explain further?

"It's none of your business…" comes my flat voice as I push passed him. The sound of Dan and Laurie's footsteps are getting farther away. I place a hand on the railing,

"Profile also said subject suffers from paranoia schizophrenia." I stop dead in my tracks as Rorschach jogs passed me. "Thought you'd like to know." His taunt rings in my head.

The first thing that runs through my head is: What the hell is paranoia schizophrenia? I stare down at the cement steps trying to remember if I ever heard it from anywhere. What does this mean? That my suspicions are confirmed and that I am in fact crazy? As I think, I slowly start to make my way up the stairs. I can't _remember_ hearing it from anywhere, and I wasn't about to go ahead and ask Rorschach what it meant.

I can't be bothered by it now, though. My attention switches as I hear footsteps behind me. I can hear their voices. I run up the stairs just in time to hear the stairway door opening. They scream for me to stop as they follow me up the stairwell. I kick open the rooftop door and feel the cold air of the night swell inside my lungs. Our escape is close.

* * *

"Speziale?"

It's raining out. My clothes make me heavy. The cheap fabric makes me itchy. I slump against the store window, like a clump of dirt. I hold a styrofoam coffee cup in my hand. Inside it, a few bits of change. I stare blankly at the sidewalk. The damp cigarette butts, the stamped out globs of gum, the feet of walkers. The droplets of rain hit the surface and then break apart into smaller droplets. It happens over and over again. Hunger claws at my stomach. The cold makes my body ache. Makes my skin pull taut over my bones, desperately trying to keep in my body warmth.

I can feel. The itchiness of my clothes, the rain pattering against my body, and the shivering cold. But, there is no substantial feeling on the _inside_ that I can claim for. I'm simply… nothing.

"Miss Speziale?"

Blink once. I lift my head. There is a man with a suit and fedora. His hands are deep in his trench coat. His face is plain in features and is expressionless. As if taught to be that way. I hoist my stiff body into a standing position. I stare at him. My hair clinging to my skin. The rain using the tendrils like tracks to move across my face. He looks me up and down.

"Mr. Blake wanted you to have this." He drops a gold key into my sad little cup. I stare at it. I recognize it as his apartment keys.

"Goodbye, Miss Speziale." I look up to see the man walking away from me. There is something bursting inside me,

"Wait!" I call out. My feet stumble forward slightly. The man pauses and turns his body in my direction.

It has been weeks since the hospital visit. I have not seen Eddie. I feel scared. Anxious. I miss him. _Missing_ isn't even the right word. It's more than that.

The man slowly approaches me once again. "Where does he live now?" the question travels through my lips. Evaporates like my cloud of breath in the rain. The man simply stares at me for a moment and then shakes his head, "I'm afraid I can't tell you." Whatever warmth was in my body, I feel it exit. My body slouches and I stare hopelessly back down at the sidewalk. I feel like I'm going to be sick.

Did he give orders to this man not to tell me? Did he actually not want to see me again? My insides feel destroyed.

"Tell him…"

I could not think of anything. Did I want to say I was sorry? I wasn't. For anything. Everything that pops into my mind seems to sad and pathetic to say. I felt embarrassed having to use a messenger to tell Eddie how I truly felt. Said man looks at me expectantly,

"Never mind…" my last goodbye.

The man nods and I watch him walk away. My body backs up against the window and I slide back down to the ground. Close my eyes. Close them to try and hide everything. My frustration, sadness, aching, loneliness, abandonment, anger, memories. I can't… I remember laying against Eddie's chest in Vietnam. After I shot Murphy. I remember the feeling of his arms holding me back as I watched a horse being slaughtered. Eddie running his dirty fingers through my hair as we laid in a tent together. Waking up in the Vietnam heat to have him sleeping next to me. Eddie carrying me after I was left to die in alley garbage.

I remember him telling me that our fight against so-called evil is hopeless. Life is meaningless. Then in Vietnam, where he told me no one can be trusted. Not even yourself. The look on his face as he burned men alive. The smile he gave me the morning after he took advantage of my drug-induced sleep. The hardness of his knuckle when he punched me in the face. The animalistic darkness in his features as he unapologetically gunned down the pregnant Vietnamese woman. Those same eyes that watched the woman he loved drive away from him.

Edward Blake…

* * *

I stare at myself in the mirror. My mirror. My bathroom. My shower. My hair and body are clean after a rigorous bath. A bath… in my own place. My apartment. My apartmentmyapartment. This is my own home. I grab a chunk of my hair. Using I knife, I cut it off. Again, again, again. Black hair covers the sink and floor around my bare feet. Long black snakes slithering on the cracked linoleum. Shaving cream. Disposable razor. I shave my head clean. I stare at myself. Bare head. Bare shoulders. The only thing I wear is my necklace of dog tags. The same dead weight I've carried since Vietnam.

That is not me. There is another person in that mirror. Her dark eyes don't shine. They blink slowly, heavily. The skin underneath is red. She looks sad and without a purpose. I can only see her wearing a camouflage soldier's uniform. She looks sick.

Time moves by like a slug. I am only being dragged along, whether I want to or not. I sit at the wooden kitchen table. My kitchen. My head rests against the surface. Inhale deeply. The trapped smell of Eddie's cigars is there. I sit up straight. Evidence of Eddie is everywhere. Holes in doors and walls. An old ashtray. In the bedroom, on the wall beside the bed, are cut up pictures of our company in Vietnam. Eddie cleaning guns. Kopper and myself smoking cigarettes. Hudson and Murphy playing cards. My eyes linger on this picture. Two best friends. Dead. One killed by a 10 year old suicide bomber, and another killed by… _me_. My eyes continue their trail.

There are no pictures of me and Eddie. The only one we are together in is the company photo when we got to Saigon. We stood on opposite ends of the picture. My black hair was choppy. His grin, large, and his cigar, brand new. Purple and blue blotches my eye and cheek. My face looked burdened. So did his. A freshly sewn up gash along the right side of his face. But, we were relieved to be going home… Who knew then what kind of New York City would be waiting for us? I hold the picture against me as I lay in bed. My bed. My own bed.

A familiar emotion runs through me. My body shakes. It jolts through my body and surges through my toes and fingertips. I grab something from beneath my pillow. Stand from the bed.

Streetlights shine through the shades of the window. Beside it there is a vanity mirror. The girl stares at me with anger. A gun in her left hand. The streetlights peeping through creating white lines against her body. She is in jeans and worn out combat boots. Her bra is black and old. There are scars on her body. Across her torso. Her arms, shoulders, and face. Battle scars. Life scars. She points the gun at me. All warmth is gone.

She points the gun to herself. She's murdered people. Children. She's killed her own baby.

What's the point? She says.

What?

There is no one left. She says.

No one?

Do something. Let it out. She says as she taps the guns against her temple.

I don't want to die…

She speaks again but I can barely hear her. It's muffled. The mirror is foggy. I can only see a part of her face. Her teeth are falling out. She's scratching open her skin with her nails. Is this real? I don't know.

The ability to distinguish the difference between reality and dreams is decreasing. Sometimes I remember a whispering in my ear, the smell of smoke, the heavy footsteps of Eddie… and I cannot tell if these were things I dreamed… or if he actually comes to visit me at night. What if all my memories are dreams? If nothing were real… but just a fabrication of my mind. I cannot grasp time. It oozes and swirls around my oblivious nature. I am stuck in it.

* * *

I want to rip my hair out. Make myself bleed. Make myself pay for everything I have ever done. Every person I've ever killed. Their faces flash behind my eyes. I want to rip them out. I cause myself misery, but that's not enough. I want to inflict it upon others. Spread it around like a disease. Hurting others in the way I feel, oh so horribly hurt. Then it becomes a cycle. _Their_ faces then flash behind my dark eyes and I start again. I can't stop myself.

I'm not human. I'm a monster.

A roar escapes my body. My muscles shake. Tears pinch through the corners of my eyes. I am in such horrible pain.

Am I supposed to hate myself this much?

Did Superman ever hate himself?

I'm just so terribly _lonely_ even as I've started to integrate myself back into society. I get a job as a waitress to cover the rent for the apartment. There is a fog between the people and me. My co-workers are uncomfortable around me and barely speak. I work diligently and then I leave. Nothing more. No substantial interaction. Every time I look into the face of an average person, I see the numerous angry faces of a mob. Then, I feel bitter betrayal when I remember how the city turned on me and my comrads. How they shot me, beat me, left me to die after all I had done for them. Then at night, I search. Not for an opportunity to help people, but for an opportunity to cause pain.

Hide in the shadows as I look upon the dark city. The flickering lights shining through homes and buildings. The melting red and yellow lights of traffic. It's so _loud_. Suffocating. Swarming. I retreat back to my apartment, where it seems like the world has collapsed and fallen away… and there is only me. Then I sit on my bed and stare blankly at the bedroom wall.

Blank. Blank. Blank.

Why can't I think?

I allow myself to lean backwards into my bed. Close my eyes for just a moment. Just for two seconds. My breathing is deep and soft. I sink deep inside of myself. Revel in the feelings around me. The scratchy fabric of my bed sheets against my bare neck and arms. The cool wind from the ceiling fan directly above me.

Just resting for a minute. Just for a minute. A picture of a man springs into my mind. He's pleading mercy from me. He says he has a family. I kill him anyways. I feel toxic, resentment towards him. A disgusting, low-life criminal. Yet, he has something that I wish I could have… A family. Someone who cares. Someone _there_. Not just the silence bouncing around the walls of your home, gluing you to your bed.

Is there something wrong with me? Some kind of defect in my human nature? Why is communication with others so difficult for me? It had never been this way before. I may have been a shy kid, but I never felt like _this_. So out of reach. Out of touch from the world and the people in it. Constant, cancerous loneliness.

Loneliness that I create…

Oh God, _why_?

But that's no us is it? He's not there. I almost _wish _that I believed in God. Then, I would have something to hold onto. Something to cling to when everything else is failing. But, I can't.

* * *

A distinct smell floods my nostrils. Heavy alcohol. I suddenly feel the presence of someone looming over me. Like a ghost. How long have I been laying here just resting my eyes?

My breathing remains as steady as it was before. My pulse does not raise. But an ominous feeling creeps over me. The ghost continues to stand over me. It's so quiet. I can barely hear it. No… _him_. I know it's him. It has to be.

The springs from the mattress creak loudly. The bed dips as he sits beside my feigned sleeping form. I hear him chuckle. Calloused fingertips trailing up and down my inner arm. The trails make my skin cold and my stomach flutter. My tongue curls up inside of my mouth. His fingers abandon my arm and brush lightly against my neck. His index finger circling around a beauty mark that I know I have there. I could almost smile.

My body is aching. My body is in jubilation. It has been so long since I've had physical contact. It causes a bubble of sadness to rise in me. Why is he even doing this? I thought he didn't want to see me again. I thought _I_ didn't want to see him again either… I was wrong. Always wrong. I miss him. I miss him so much that it hurts! And I can't stand that I do.

He did this to me. He is the reason why I'm so fucking lonely and angry. If it weren't for him, I would have never went to Nam. I would have never killed those people or murdered Murphy. I would have never had my soul ripped inside out and become forever changed. Forever _fucked_. It would have just been something I saw from afar. Watched on television or read in the paper. Not involved enough to be effected. I could have retired like Laurie and Dan. I could have had a normal life. Met a guy who treated me nicely. Settled down. Had a family.

I use to think that type of life was boring. A sentencing to hell. But, by God, it's all I fucking want now.

His hand suddenly leaves my neck. An alarm sets off in my brain as I feel my shorts being pulled down. Some kind of gear clicks in me. An automatic defense system. My eyes snap open and I throw a punch. It lands on his jaw and throws him off the bed. I reset my shorts and jump to my feet. From the bed, I look down at him. He's wearing his civilian clothes. His eyes glisten darkly at me as he wipes the blood from his mouth. He laughs as he wobbles back on his feet.

"You shouldn't have done that, sweetheart."

When he speaks, the smell of alcohol grows stronger. My face is stony as I stare at him. Contempt courses through my body. I know what's coming. I know that look on his face. That distinct stillness in the air. The crackle. The boom.

He lunges at me. The bed gives me an extra bounce as I jump out of the way. I land on my feet on the wood floor. I pivot and go for a high kick. There is a smile on his face as he catches my leg. It disappears as I punch him in the nose. His fingers loosen around my leg and I jump away.

"You fucking _bitch_." He growls at me as he holds his bleeding nose.

I charge at him again and quickly crouch to kick out his feet. He's faster though. My kick misses as he quickly jumps. Before I even have time to get back up, he grabs me by the back of my neck. My body is flung into the wall. My mouth opens in a silent scream and then I see stars and my face goes numb. He punches me again and again. My knees give way and I finally realize he's holding me up by my t-shirt. When he let's go, I collapse to the floor. My face is swelling up. I can taste blood in my mouth. I yelp as he kicks me in the back.

"Get up!" he yells down at me. "Fight me, Q. Get up!" he gives me an extra kick.

My arms shake as I push myself back on my feet. I back up slightly away from him so I'm no longer between him and a wall. My left eye is swollen. There must be a cut on my face because I can feel the tickling trail of blood on my cheek. I gather up all the blood I have in my mouth and spit it onto his shoes. He simply stares at me. I know I'm not fighting with the real him at the moment. I'm fighting with a beast. He's never done this before. Not the _hitting_ me part, of course. But it's the fact that he's goading me on. He wants an excuse to hurt me, and for me to hurt him.

We circle around each other. Our fists ready. He's waiting for me to go at him again. Is there really any point? He knows all my moves and I feel so weak right now…

I throw a punch at him. His arm knocks my fist away. His opposite hand comes down and he slaps me. _Hard_. My face snaps to the side and I am dazed for a moment from the stinging pain. But it only takes a single moment for his slapping hand that came down, to come back up as a rock hard fist. The back of his knuckle collides with the side of my face. The power of it flings me to the side. I crash into a table and break a lamp. He steps towards me as I slump against the wall in defeat.

He grabs me by the shirt again. I grimace at the pain I'm in as he hoists me to my feet. He spins me around and slams me into the wall. Pulls my head back and smashes it against the wall. The sensitive, swollen side of my face is being ground into the rough surface of the wall and – oh goddamnit, it hurts so bad! He's acting like he wants to kill me!

"Shut up!" I flinch from how loud his voice is in my ear. He cracks my head against the wall again.

"Shut up! Stop fucking crying!" I didn't even realize I was.

I quiet my sobbing and I can hear his shuddering, labored breathing in my ear. I gag on the smell of alcohol coming from his breath. He's actually shaking. I can feel his body trembling against mine. He starts laughing as he rubs my shaved head in an almost affectionate way. Without him even saying anything, I know he's thinking about the same thing I did in Vietnam.

"You reminded me of her in so many ways…"

I know who _her_ is. I can feel my stomach curling.

"Then, after awhile, I realized you weren't like her at all…"

His one hand closes around my wrist and lifts it above my head. My other hand is stuck between the two of us. With his knee, he separates my legs. My pulse quickens. I feel the urge to vomit from all the panic surging through me. I wish I had tranquilizers. Then I would be able to sleep like the last time. Try to pretend it never happened. The sound of metal let's me know that he's undoing his belt.

Jesus fucking Christ! He can't! He can't! I have to fucking reason with him!

"You don't want to do this, Eddie!"

He pauses.

"Remember how guilty you were last time?!" comes my panicked voice.

There is a small silence as my words sink into him.

"Shut up." He finally mutters.

I begin crying again. His fingers hook into the edge of my shorts.

"Please! Don't do this to me!" I plea. He stops once again.

He's still shaking. His breathing becomes even heavier. He's fighting with himself. The hand around my wrist pulls my body and swings me around. I trip and fall backwards onto the floor. I look up at him with my good eye. He's staring at me with such rage that it's frightening.

"Do to you?" he mutters.

"What about what you've done to me!?" he shouts.

He goes like a volcano. He flips over the bed. Punches holes in the walls. Destroys the pictures from Vietnam. Splinters the bedroom door. Shatters the mirror. Jesus fucking _Christ_. I push myself into a corner. Making myself small and unnoticeable. He's rambling on as he rages through his drunken tantrum. Barely any of it makes sense. The bastard is nuclear.

"You use to be just some fucking kid. You were nothing special when I first saw ya. Just a goddamn _rat_. A funny joke that I liked to mess with." It's like I can _hear_ his heartbeat calming down. He steps into the middle of the room.

"Then… Then –" he's struggling with his words. He doesn't know how to express his feelings. _Feelings_. This isn't right. Eddie doesn't express his _feelings_. I remain in my corner. In too much in pain to move. Too afraid. Too embarrassed because I feel like I'm witnessing a part of Eddie that is not meant to be seen.

"In Nam, when that grunt was on you…" he makes a sound that I can only describe as an irritated animal.

"Fucking changed. Fucking changed everything. You weren't like Sal at all…"

He sits down across the room from me. His back against the wall. And still, I don't move a muscle. This wasn't what I had in mind when I said I didn't want to be lonely anymore. I watch as Eddie rubs his mouth. Smearing the spit and blood on his chin. When he speaks again, his voice is soft and constrained.

"I would follow you around. I felt angry towards Bird Boy, and not for the usual reasons. I didn't… didn't like how he looked at Laurie. How he had you in his house… Couldn't stand it when you were around me… I felt anger, and at the same time…" He takes in a gulp of air.

I frown at him. What did Laurie have to do with this? Oh… Oh, _God_! Was he fucking her as well?! Jesus Christ! I feel sick… Eddie is spilling his guts to me and I almost don't want him to. This is utterly horrible and I know _why_ he's doing this. Why he came to my apartment, beat the shit out of me, and then tried to do something awful. Hurt the ones you love… He likes to hurt me _bad_. He wants me to hate him. So I won't be near him. So I won't cause him that terrible inner pain.

But, isn't this what he's on about? Isn't this why he's trying to say that he has feelings for me? Because I _know_? Because in certain instances, I know the shit he goes through. God damnit… what happened to me? This all went too far. _Too_ far. I remember when I was a teenager, so fucking long ago, when I would just _stare_ at him. Trying to figure Eddie out. _Wanting_ to figure him out. Jesus-God, what did I do?

He seems to have given up on trying to speak. Eddie groans and pushes himself to a standing position. His footing is a little unever as he walks around the room. He flips the bed back over, puts the mattress back on, and fixes the side table. He doesn't even look at me once. I uncurl my body from the corner as he takes a seat on the bed, the springs creaking loudly. He sits and stares silently at the wall. Just like how I've done on numerous occasions. From an outsider point of view, that habit actually looks a bit eerie.

Using the wall, I am able to stand. My fingers tentatively touch my face. It's swollen and tender with drying blood. I give a soft sigh as I stare at Eddie. His broad back, his elbows resting on his knees, his foggy eyes staring straight forward. Quietly, I approach him. The air is calm and damp around him. His violent outburst is over.

I stand in front of him, looking down at his frowning face. Slowly, his large arms lift up and wrap around my waist. He pulls me close and presses the side of his bloody face against my stomach. The stomach that our child died in. I feel my body run cold.

His dark eyes flutter close. Awkwardly, I raise my own arms and wrap them around his head. My fingers ruffle through his hair and massage his scalp. Just like how he's done it to me numerous times over. This is so… _weird_. He's never… I mean he's never really hugged me before, let alone _clung_ to me. The situation is even stranger given our bloody and bruised faces.

He falls backwards onto the bed and pulls me with him. My body is stiff as I lay beside him, but he doesn't do anything threatening. His eyes open and he stares devoid of emotion up at the ceiling fan.

"I've done some bad things, Q."

The roles are reversed here. It's usually me spilling everything out to him. Me going to _him_ for the answers. Me going to _him_ for comfort. I feel terrible because, well, I have no answers. He wants me to tell him that it will get better in time. Before you know it, you'll forget. Before you know it, you'll be a happy person.

We both know… that's never going to happen. He'll never forget all the sins he's committed. Just like how I will never forget my own. That's the worse kind of punishment.

I purse my lips when I think about what he said before. It eats me up on the inside. Makes me sick. My curiosity is too strong.

"You slept with Laurie?"

I feel like an insecure child as I ask this. It's cringe worthy. But his reaction is not what I expected. He simply closes his eyes, as if he wishes I didn't just say that. Then reopens them to look back up at the ceiling. His adam's apple bobs before he opens his mouth to answer.

"She's my daughter."

My eyelids fly back and yet he still does not look at me. I feel like I've been punched in the brain. I think back to every moment I've spent with Laurie and feel absolute embarrassment. I've been sleeping with her _father_. My unborn baby was her _sibling_. But, she doesn't know, does she? No, she can't. She's never said anything about it.

I push myself up on an elbow so I can look down at his face. He doesn't acknowledge me. It's only after I say his name do his dark eyes trail a centimeter to the right and look at me. His eyes look lifeless. The usually shimmer isn't there. The shimmer that tells you he's having a laugh at your expense. He's not pretending now. I'm seeing how he really feels. Dark, angry, tragic.

He's not lying. Jesus Christ. His daughter doesn't even know that he's her father. She hates him. She absolutely hates him… and so does her mother. I begin to feel unending pity for Eddie. He's alone just like me. Pushed away just like me. Because our actions cause our loneliness. My God… How did I end up becoming so much like him? At least Laurie doesn't know. It saves me atleast a _little_ bit of shame.

I push a strand of graying hair away from his face. He's looking at me intently and I know have to say something. To finally tell him.

"You're my only friend in this messed up place." I whisper. I watch his gaze flicker around my face.

"And I love you."

I don't tell him how much I hate him for it. How much I resent him. How much I wish I never met him. How he deserves all the misery in the world because he's a bad man, and I hate loving a bad man.

I just let him know the simplest of emotions I have for him. And, trust me, love is such a simple emotion when you get down to it. My hand brushes along his face before I lean down and press my lips against his own. When I pull away, his eyes are closed. The alcohol is finally pulling him into a dreamless sleep. My muscles finally relax as his breathing becomes soft and even. I trail the disfiguring scar on the side of his face.

Things were so much easier… when I was a child.

With a sigh, I leave the bed. Step carefully around the room to avoid shards of lamp, glass fragments, and splinters from the fractured door. I head to the bathroom to wash off the blood.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Watchmen. I only own my character (Francise Jean Speziale AKA Q/The Queen)**

**A/N: Apologies for the short chapter. But the next one is going to be the big showdown against Adrian  
and I want that one to be nice and chunky! Again, sorry for the wait and I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Rorschach is standing at Archie's door. He yells for me to run. Dan is starting the aircraft. The police are behind me. My heart is racing as my legs move. Archie is now hovering a few feet from the ledge. I'm thrown back into a memory of Vietnam. Jumping in and out of helicopters…

The police are on the roof. Their guns are out. I jump for Archie's doorway. Time slows down. I can hear the crack of gunfire. The high ring of the bullets ricocheting off Archie. Nothing holding up my body except the wind seeping through my clothes. My one arm stretches out, but there is a miscalculation. I'm not going to make it. My fingers wave at open air. No.

This wasn't how it was supposed to end.

As I begin falling, time returns to its normal state. It all comes rushing in at me. I feel gravity dragging me down. Suddenly there is a gloved hand around my wrist. My hand immediately latches on. The save snaps my body, swinging me sideways. My box falls from beneath my arm. My hand catches it by the corner. I watch as my flashlight and gas powered grappling gun fall into the night. A flash of yellow twirls between them. Oxygen rips from my lungs. The smiley face winks up at me. Getting smaller and smaller.

No. Eddie!

My hand released the arm holding onto me. I needed to save it. I needed to. There were now two gloved hands struggling to hold me. Archie was flying away. The yellow blurred into the black. The cops continued to shoot at us. I blink and realize someone is calling my name.

Q, they yell. Q, hold on!

I look up. Rorschach has both hands on my right arm. Laurie is next to him, trying to grab onto my shirt. My ligaments feel like they are about to snap. They hoist me in. My face is cold from the wind, and I feel nothing on the inside.

I lost it. Lost it. It felt like I had let Eddie down. That I lost him all over again from losing that badge. I felt the world swirling around me and going down the toilet. In the next two hours, Laurie left for Manhattan. She was going to try and convince God to save us all. Then at Veidt Industries, we discovered who was behind it all.

The light from the computer screen begins to hurt my eyes but I cannot blink.

He did it. He did it all. Our _friend_.

Rage boils inside me and then cools into a fear. Adrian. The fastest and smartest man alive. A dangerous man to appose. I don't know if we can even beat him.

"What do we do?" Dan asks.

My senses are working and I know that at the end of this, someone is going to die. I just pray to whatever the fucks out there… that it's Adrian instead of us.

"Kill him."

* * *

Could it really be that simple? No, no it couldn't.

I'm sitting on the steel grid of a metropolis building. Construction was abandoned from lack of funds. So now the depressing frame stands alone and bare. The skeleton of something unborn. A dream left behind.

My feet dangle in the air. The laces from my sneakers hang like black tapeworms. The red sun is rising. The light winks and glimmers against the billions of glass windows of the city. The sky is split in half from a raging battle. One side, a vibrant orange. The other, a murderous dark purple. The clouds drift between without a single care. Like lazy children. Before me there is day and behind me there is night.

I could smell the sewage and dirt. Smell the constant smoke and sticky prostitution of the city. But the world is so far away. All the people. The clouds. The lights. The subtle sounds. The horizon is there, and I think about how I can't even see the end of the state. The end of the country. The end of the world. It's just a line. Never ending. And I… I am just a small dot on the world. A fleck of dust in the solar system. A particle in the universe.

Our trifle lives… Our loves, happiness, tragedies… They are meaningless in the universe. It doesn't even blink. So why do our lives feel so large? Why do our problems seem to take the space of the world? I don't know… I don't.

I felt so sedated that I forget to breathe. Just sitting there without a breath in my lungs until I remember. In between my fingers is a cigarette. My first cigarette I've had since Vietnam. Every time I exhale the smoke, the world's rotation slows down even more. Standing still.

I couldn't sleep, so I left the apartment. Something fretted inside my mind. I was afraid. So afraid. So I ran away before Eddie could wake up. Is it natural to be afraid of those you love? I knew he would have to leave and I'll just be stuck in the apartment. Alone. Left behind. That's always how it is.

Run away.

I did it when I was seventeen and I still do it now.

My hand rubs my neck and travels upwards to my shaved head. The fuzz prickles against my palm. So bare. So empty.

I take a long drag from the cigarette. I can hear the cherry crackle through the tobacco and paper. The smoke shoots through my lips and becomes lost in the cold air. I flick my cigarette and watch it fall and become blown over to a nearby building.

Did I expect things to change after I told him that I loved him? Maybe I thought he'd take things seriously. Maybe he'd stay. Our troubles would turn over. Maybe it _was_ that simple.

But then, there was something deep down inside me that crushed all my wild hopes. I knew. Deep down, I knew. There was something inside Eddie; maybe inside me too, that takes control of his actions. Something malignant. Cold and aggressive. Happiness and content is a threat to it. As soon as they are sensed, they must be stomped out. Prosperity and joy cannot coincide with this force. It cannot be. Never will.

The impulse to hurt the ones you love… because love is scary. Love is soft, powerful, and dangerous.

It makes me laugh when I think about it. Me and Eddie. Holding hands. A couple. Yeah. I think about all the times he ever hurt me. The punching. The words. The emptiness he gives me. I think about the picture of Sally Jupiter on his bedside table. I imagine him touching her. His rough hands traveling up her sides, touching her in intimate places. His lips pressed against hers. Her arms around his shoulders, holding him close.

Him whispering in her ear, "I love you."

A sickness rises in me. I clamp a hand on my mouth to hold back the horrible scream that threatens to break through. God damn it. God damn my life. I just… I just want to be _happy_. I wish I could pluck him from my memories. It hurts to even think about him.

Yeah. Me and Eddie.

It can never be… Never be.

* * *

He was still in the apartment. As soon as I opened the door, I could tell. His giant presence drifts through the air. Clings to the walls. It's a heavy feeling. Morosely, I closed the front door behind me. There were sounds coming from the kitchen. I follow the sounds, my footsteps quiet and unnoticeable.

He was at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal. He paused, the spoon remaining in his mouth. A bit of milk dribbled on his chin. His dark eyes were on me.

Eating breakfast like a normal person. Not a murderer, rapist, baby killer. Just a normal person.

The air in the room was thick and made me feel awkward to even be there. Slowly, he lowered the spoon back into the bowl. Pops… I could hear the snap and crackle.

"I did that."

He's looking at the bruises on my face as he says this. He says it as if he just remembered. Maybe he doesn't even remember that I love him. I watched him as he gave a sigh, looked down at the Pops, and pushed the bowl away. Silence engulfs us once again. I wish the paint from the walls would melt and wash us both away. Then we would be clean, white, bare…

"I have to go to work." I finally excuse myself.

I head into my room. The sheets are off the bed. There is blood on the floor and mattress. Holes in the walls, the door is broken, and shards of glass lying around from my broken mirror. I stared apathetically at its messy state for only a moment, and opened the closet. My black pants, button-down shirt, and apron. The symbol of my enslavement to the diner industry. I took my time slowly while I dressed, giving Eddie all the time in the world to leave. But I knew he was there. I knew.

When I come out of my room, he's waiting in the hallway. He just stares at me.

His eyes were black. Dead. I tried to disconnect, but I couldn't help the terrible ache that spiked through me. What is this? All of this? It's all just a fucking waste. Everything. It was like being trapped. Unable to escape. A constant, slow despair.

He reached out for me with his right hand. As soon as his arm rose, my eyes twitched shut and body flinched. A horrible reaction. Is this how my body responds to him? Why can't my mind be the same way? Why can't I just fucking go? Why can't I just live without him? Why can't _he_ live without me?

His dirty fingers touched my chin in a delicate manner.

"Q?" that sad, rumbling voice.

His large hand came to cup the side of my face. The side that had not been beaten red and puffed up. His touch was so warm against my cold cheek. So inexplicable how it comforted me. He may as well have engulfed me in a passionate hug. My eyes squeezed tighter as his thumb rubbed against my high cheekbone. My hands reached up and held onto his.

How can he do this? How can he hurt me so badly? Cause so much pain and then it all seems to disappear? _I_ want to disappear. I want him to hold me until I just melt and disappear. He was everything to me. My misery, my love, my hatred. Everything I wanted and didn't.

"Why do you do this to me?" came my cracked plea.

Tears rolled down my cheeks at the opening of my eyes. They run over his hand and mine. They stung and bit at the small cuts and bruises. Thick. Contemptible. Why? Why me? He said it himself. I was nobody. I was nothing. Unnoticeable. Unmentionable. Why? Why does he do this to _me_?

I don't look up at him. Only at my hands clutched desperately onto his.

"You know why, Q."

It takes everything in my control to not explode. Not break down. It was as if everything I ever felt was tied up in a sharp knot in my chest. Painfully throbbing. No, no, no.

My fingers dig into his hand.

I hate him. I hate him so much that I could die from it. I hate him for how he hurts me. I hate him for how much I care about him. I hate him for making me so miserable and lonely when he's not around. I hate him for making a goddamn fool out of me. I hate him for having me fall in love with him.

I have never loved another man. Never cared about another man, like I do him. But why him? Why did I have to fall in love with a man that's violent towards me? Obsessive towards me? Why did I have to fall in love with a man that just keeps me in the shadows? While another woman's picture sits at his bedside table?

_Why_?

I ask this to a God that I know will never answer.

I'm scared. Scared that he will be the only true human contact I will ever experience.

"I'll be leaving the country again soon… Skip work and spend some time with me."

That same feeling of sickness overwhelms me again. Why? Why? I'm tired of this dance. Tired of being treated this way. The image of Eddie and Sally making love explodes in my mind again, and then fizzes out just as quickly.

I can't do this anymore.

"No…" I shake my head. I can't look at him. I refuse to.

"I have to go."

I push his hand away from my face. It falls to his side. I wipe my face of the ugly tears and walk passed him. He remains silent. Still. He doesn't even turn around as I reach the door. "Don't visit me again, Eddie." The door closes behind me.

As I walk through the streets, I think about the previous night. How his loneliness shone through like I have never seen before. That his daughter hates him. The woman he loves hates him. Now me. Pushing him away. Pushing him out. Banishing him from my life. His world… it's just one big swirling black cloud. Waiting for the day it will burn up in ashes. Destroying everything…

I don't mean to be part of this dance. Pining after him, then when he comes along, I turn my back. I never knew what I wanted. Him? Or just _someone_? I know he cares. He wouldn't treat me the way he did if he never cared. But maybe that's what's wrong… The way he treats the people he cares about. I knew by walking out that door, walking down the street towards the diner… I was hurting him. Guilt straps down on me as I think about how I was like any other person in his life… Just end up leaving him.

Maybe… We're all better off without him. Laurie, Sally, me. Look at the legacy he leaves behind in all of us… Maybe without him, we can be happy.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:: This is dedicated to all the readers, the people who reviewed, and most specially... Dan. A part of me kind of hates you because you make me so happy, and without misery, writing can become god damn difficult. I love you, turd.**

* * *

I can smell it. So thick. So distinct. I remember it from Vietnam as boys walked, knowingly, towards their death.

Fear.

"I can't believe Adrian actually…"

Dan is navigating Archie through the sharp, bitter cold of the artic. His teeth grit together as he attempts to conclude his sentence.

"Betrayed us all." Rorschach finishes it for him. Stubborn and refusing to sit, the shorter man stood between Dan and myself. Rorschach was resolute, but I could even smell apprehension coming from _him_… Of all people… It wasn't very surprising to me that Dan was the most nervous. He quit a long time before us. He's out of shape and rusty… and he's going against Adrian. I feel…

I don't know how I feel.

It's not fear. I don't value my life so I have no reason to fear dying. But I feel… anger, bitterness, betrayal, a broken heart. He was supposed to be our friend. Our ally. He shook our hands at the funeral. Grieved with us. I looked into the face of Eddie's murderer and didn't even know it. If I were alone I'd probably cry, but the presence of Rorschach and Dan is all too overwhelming. The tears don't come; they are just replaced with frothy rage.

"He has to pay." Comes my whisper.

I look towards Dan and see him chewing on his lip. His gloves tighten around the control wheel.

"I think we are jumping to conclusions here. I mean, so many things don't make sense. There are too many holes. What could Adrian possibly be planning with all this?"

"Pushing nations into World War III." Rorschach answered immediately.

"This is Adrian for God's sake! We know him! He never killed anybody, ever. Why would he want to destroy the world?"

It was a good question. What would Adrian gain from all this? Dan was right. Things didn't make sense. What would all out war and nuclear holocaust do for Adrian?

"Insanity, perhaps?" rumbled Rorschach.

Dan let loose a cynical laugh. "Well, that's a tricky one… I mean, who's qualified to judge something like that? This is the world's smartest man we're talking about here, so how can you tell? How can anyone tell he's gone crazy?"

I purse my lips as he says this. Adrian. The smartest man in the world. Jesus Christ, what were we getting ourselves into? I didn't even have any _weapons_ on me. Not even my brass knuckles. Any guns or knives I had were confiscated by police when I was arrested. I felt naked.

"Do you hear that?" Dan asked.

Rorschach and myself listened. A sputtering sound was coming from Archie. "Shit! The engine is kicking. I bet it's the ice. I had him soaking on a riverbed all yesterday, then I bring him to sub-zero temperatures! Why didn't I think-" as Dan continued to berate himself, Archie started to slowly go down in altitude.

My fingers dug into my chair, "Daniel… coming in too low towards the cliffs." Rorschach interjected.

Cliffs. It was a giant white wall of ice and we were heading straight for it. My heart began thumping in my chest. Just our fucking luck to die in a crash collision before we can even save the god damn world.

"Pull up!" I yelled.

Dan frantically pushed at buttons and tugged at the wheel, "I'm trying! I'm trying to pull him up, damnit! Wait! Wait, I think it's coming around! I think-"

Archie started to climb up the side of the wall. I held my breath in.

"Made it!" Dan declared as Archie cleared over the cliff. I let loose a long exhale.

"Daniel, engine just stopped."

"What?"

"What?" Dan and I yelled in unison.

Rorschach repeated himself just as Archie started to plummet downwards.

"Hold on to something!"

There was no time to find something to hold on to. Archie slammed into the ice. The impact threw me forwards. My head slammed against the front glass. Rorschach flew sideways, Dan held onto the wheel and was pretty much left unharmed.

"Shit." I groaned as I stood. My head was throbbing so hard that it hurt to open my eyes.

"Everyone okay?"

"Twisted ankle. Nothing serious. Landed on it badly night police took me."

"How's the head, Q?"

"I'll live…"

Dan quickly stood from his seat and went to get his artic owl coat.

"How bad is damage to ship?" Rorschach asked.

"Nothing I couldn't fix given a few hours. It will have to wait until we get back." Dan answered.

"If we get back." Rorschach corrected.

Dan paused putting his gloves on and looked towards me. "Uh, yeah… If…" he looked back down again.

The walk was long… and cold. I grabbed one of Dan's spare artic coats. Rorschach had nothing but his trench coat. We had no idea what we were walking towards. The wind howled and the cold cut through you, stealing your very breath. No one bothered to talk. We couldn't hear each other anyways and the temperature kept us quiet. As the journey continued, the outline of large pyramids came into view. Adrian's fortress. I felt the knot in my stomach begin to tighten.

Getting in was easy enough, perhaps too easy. Dan and I abandoned our artic coats and joined Rorschach as we looked around. The place was massive and very quiet. It didn't seem like anyone was here. You'd expect at least _someone_ to be walking around. A maintenance man or a scientist, but there wasn't. The fortress was empty. But then we heard the faintest of sounds. Dan looked towards me, his face scrunched up as he was trying to figure out the sound.

"Silverware." I whispered.

We followed the sound, going down a flight of stairs. Every step was careful. Every breath was restricted. As we reached the bottom of the steps we saw him. He was sitting at a long dining table and eating a meal by himself. We hid behind pillars as we watched him. My eyes went to Rorschach. His plan was going to be Restrain First, Ask Questions Later and there Adrian was… All by himself.

All I could think about was how easy it was that we got in. If he was really behind all this, if Adrian _really_ had gone crazy… wouldn't this be more difficult? I couldn't say anything. Not now. It was too late. His back was turned to us. We approached him from behind. Rorschach was first. He lunged at him.

It all happened to fast. In five seconds, Rorschach was pinned to the table by a fork, Dan had a bloody nose, and a chair had been slammed against my back. I knew it wouldn't be easy.

"What can I do for you?" Adrian's cool, even voice spoke over Rorschach's grunting as he attempted to free his arm from the fork. I pushed myself into a standing position.

"You know what this is about! Pyramid deliveries are behind this whole mess, and you're behind Pyramid. Christ, Adrian. What are you trying to do?" Dan spoke through his bleeding nose.

Adrian picked up a wine glass, sipped his drink, and turned his back to us. It infuriated me. Infuriated me to no end how-how… _confident_ he was to turn his back on three enemies. As if we were nothing to him. As if we were just children interrupting his work.

"What we all tried to do, after our initial struggles to find our feet. I'm just trying to improve the world. Like when I started out." Adrian answered calmly. Rorschach finally pulled the fork from the table.

"My first case made it seem possible to end injustice by demolishing crime syndicates. This notion, that criminals monopolized evil was itself demolished by my second case. I realized then how bad things were. I continued adventuring but it seemed hollow. I fought only the symptoms, leaving the disease itself unchecked."

As Adrian spoke, Rorschach tried to stab him in the back with the fork. Adrian foresaw this. He grabbed Rorschach's hand, pulled his head down sideways by his mask and then punched him in the face. I went at him with a punch. He kneed me in the stomach. I doubled over. He placed his foot firmly on my backside and shoved me onto the floor. He did this all while speaking. He didn't miss a beat. He didn't lose concentration. It was humiliating.

He continued speaking as if Rorschach and I had not just attacked him, "I despised myself… my sham crusade. Knowing mankind's problems, I'd blinded myself to them. I felt helpless against forces greater than I anticipated. Too cowardly to confront my anxieties, I had life's black comedy explained to me by the Comedian himself at the Watchmen meeting in '66."

My breathing grew heavy and my teeth ground together as Adrian spoke of Eddie. Dan was helping Rorschach up when I sprung to my feet and grabbed a steak knife from the table.

"He discussed nuclear war's inevitability; described my future role as 'Smartest guy on the cinder'… and opened my eyes. Only the _best_ comedians accomplish that."

He had no right… no _right_ to talk about Eddie! I attempted to stab him in the mid-section, but he was just too fast. He grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm. I let out a cry of pain. My tendons and bones were on the verge of breaking.

"-I remember the charred map between my fingers. That's when I understood."

He gave my arm another aggressive twist and I finally dropped the knife. He let me go and I released a hiss of pain towards my hurt arm.

"That's when it hit me. I left the meeting. Outside, Blake argued with Laurie and her mother. I swore to deny his kind their last black laugh at the Earth's expense." Adrian began to walk towards an adjacent room. Cautiously, we followed him.

"I realized that as tensions and possibility of nuclear war _rose_, the elevation of costumed heroes became a _descent_. I foresaw that by the late seventies, it would reach bottom. This left ten years to build a fortune to sustain me beyond that point, allowing me the power and leverage I'd surely need."

Jesus Christ. He's been planning this shit for _over ten years_? He led us into one of the giant glass pyramids. An icy wasteland surrounded us. It made me feel trapped. A low growl suddenly started. It wasn't just any growl. This sound reverberated in your chest and made your hair stand on end. It belonged to a very large animal. From the shadows, a large cat emerged. It was purple and was not a species that I knew of. Its head was low as it approached. Its dark eyes remained on me, Dan, and Rorschach as it took its place at Adrian's side.

"Each step had to be taken carefully, constantly striving to keep in mind the enormous scale of what was at stake! The Earth. Humanity. All we've ever known… 'End of the world' does the concept no justice. The world's _present_ would end. Its future, immeasurably vaster, would _also_ vanish. Even our past would be cancelled. Our struggle from the primal ooze, every childbirth, ever personal sacrifice rendered meaningless, leading only to dust, tossed on the void-winds. Save for Richard Nixon, whose name adorns a plaque on the moon, no human vestige would remain. Ruins become sand, sand blows away… All our richness and color and beauty would be lost… as if it had never been."

I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about. All I could catch was that he foresaw the world coming to an end and planned to do something about it. But all these words were simply whirling around in my head, but I didn't understand. If he wanted to save the world, why kill people? Maybe Rorschach was right. Maybe Adrian is insane.

"Each step was synchronized. Jon, being too powerful and unpredictable to fit my plans, needed removing. Thus, dimensional developments hired his past associates-"

"And gave them _cancer_?" Dan interrupted.

"Yes. Weaver first, Slater and Moloch later. Unwittingly exposed to radiation, they were closely observed, cultivated as weapons against Jon. Meanwhile, taking advantage of new technology, I researched genetics… Bubastis was an early success. Around the same time, I began working with Jon to find ways to could copy his energy…" he pet the large cat's head. The mammoth creature rubbed against Adrian in affection. "…and teleportation."

"The only hero retaining public sympathy, I quit two years before the Keene Act, concentrating on my plan. Unable to unite the world by conquest… Alexander the Great's method… I would trick it; frighten it towards salvation with the history's greatest practical joke. That's what upset the Comedian when awareness of my scheme crashed in upon him: professional jealousy."

Rorschach pointed an accusing finger at Adrian. "Blake's murder. You confess?"

"Confession implies penitence. I merely regret his accidental involvement." Dan held me by the arm to keep me from charging at Adrian once again.

The cocky fuck. Eddie. Jealous of him. The thought of it made my blood boil.

"What he found out must have been a terrible blow. Imagine… the perfect fighting man discovering a plot to put an end to war… an end to fighting."

"What do genetics, Jon's powers, and teleportation have to do with ending war?" Dan asked.

"Everything." Answered Adrian. "What Blake had found out was a collection of scientists constructing a large machine. Upon learning the intended purpose of the machine, Blake's practiced cynicism cracked. Though appalled, exposing my plan would participate greater horrors preventing humanity's salvation. Even Blake balked at that possibility, telling only Moloch, who he knew wouldn't understand… But I had Moloch's place bugged, and I understood perfectly."

I remembered that Moloch had said… The Comedian had come to him crying. At the time, I couldn't believe it. He had been crying because all this fucked up shit was happening. Right under everyone's noses… and he couldn't do anything about it.

"The plan Blake had uncovered was this: to frighten governments into co-operation, I would convince them that the Earth faced imminent attack… from Dr. Manhattan. I'm afraid the discovery rather drove the wind from his sails."

Jesus Christ. Jesus _fucking_ Christ.

Dan began laughing. "Adrian, come on, what… You're serious?"

Adrian's face became grave. "Perfectly. An intractable problem can only be resolved by stepping beyond conventional solutions. Alexander understood that two thousand years ago. Blake understood too. He knew my plan would succeed, though its scale terrified him. That's why he told nobody. It was too big to discuss… but he understood. At the end, he understood. He understood the portents, knew a dazzling transformation was at hand for mankind. The brutal world he'd relished would simply cease to be, its fierce and brawling denizens rushing to join the mastodon in obsolescence… in extinction."

"You FUCK!" I yelled. I could feel my face turning red from anger. But that cat. That damn fucking cat kept circling Adrian. Dan's grip tightened around my arm to keep me still.

Adrian continued as if I never interrupted. "After Blake, I neutralized Jon. Stolen psychiatric reports indicated his mental withdrawal. The cancer allegations made it physical. But then Rorschach's mask killer hunt with Q in tow also needed stopping. My own 'assassination', confirming his erroneous theory, placed me beyond suspicion. I'd hired my own killer through a third party. When I fed him the cyanide capsule, perhaps he realized this. I knew only triumph… nothing now stood between me and my goal. Humanity's fate rested safely in my hands."

"Adrian this is crazy." Dan attempted to reach through to him.

"I planned to build my machine and teleport Jon's power to a certain location. The compact energy being so large and powerful that it would remove New York City from the map."

Dan seemed to think this was still all a joke. I didn't know what to think anymore. "Adrian, I'm sorry. You need help. I know all this stuff is bullshit, but I'm still glad we got here before you got deeper into this mess. Christ, you seriously planned all this mad scientist stuff?"

Adrian looked blankly at Dan. This wasn't a joke. Fucking Christ, it wasn't a joke. He had to be stopped!

"I mean, when was this hopeless black fantasy supposed to happen? When were you planning to do it?" Dan asked.

"_Do it_? Dan, I'm not a comic book super villain. Do you seriously think I'd explain my masterstroke if there remained the slightest chance of you affecting the outcome?"

My mouth dropped. Rorschach, Dan, and I simply stared at Adrian.

"I did it thirty-five minutes ago."

Oh my God.

"Take cat away, Veidt. Take cat away and face me!" Rorschach roared.

"Adrian, I'm sorry, I don't buy this story. Come on, what are you really up to?" Dan still wanted to believe it was all a big gag. But I knew. I could see it in the fuck's eyes.

Adrian gave a long sigh. "Very well. Once more… I engineered a machine to duplicate Jon's energy, sent it to New York and Moscow, destroying both cities."

Dan shook his head, "Adrain, that's bullshit."

"No. It's not." I said.

"Telling truth. Listen to voice. He did it. Veidt, _get rid of cat_." Rorschach growled.

Veidt stared down at his long eared cat. "No, I don't _think_ so. After all, her presence saves you the humiliation of another beating." A low, vicious rumble came from Rorschach's throat as Adrian said this.

"Rorschach, he's kidding you. His story, it's full of holes! Adrian, your assassination attempt… you couldn't have planned it! What if he'd shot you first instead of your secretary?"

It was then that Adrian smiled. The first smile since we had gotten here. "I suppose I'd have to catch the bullet, wouldn't I?"

"You… ? Nah, come on. That's completely… You couldn't _really_ do that?"

Adrian's smile said it all. That cocky fucking smile. I wish I had my guns. I wish I had something except for my _fists_. He's too fast for that. He's too fast for any of us.

"No. I just don't buy it. Any of it. You wouldn't kill half New York. You couldn't…"

"I could… and I did, Dan."

"You can't get away with this!" I interrupted.

"I believe I can. The only people who know are in this room and it will stay this way."

"Workers on machine. They will tell." Rorschach spoke up.

"Those involved are all dead. Killed by killers who killed each other… A lethal pyramid."

"And you're proud of it."

The blonde hero smiled. "A few deaths in exchange for the savior of billions of lives."

There was sudden flash of blue. In his naked glory, Dr. Manhattan appeared with Silk Specter.

"Laurie!" Dan immediately went to her side.

"Oh dear." Adrian and his cat fled to a different room.

"Must stop him. Killed Blake. Killed millions." Rorschach directed Dr. Manhattan.

"I know." He stated simply as he walked after Adrian.

* * *

"I am disappointed, Veidt. Very disappointed."

The ring of shattered glass broke through the hall. Dan covered Laurie from the flying shards. Rorschach and myself stared up at the ominous blue figure. Manhattan began to shrink himself as he advanced on Adrian. There was a tone to his voice that I had not heard in a long time.

Anger.

"Restructuring myself after the subtraction of my intrinsic field was the first trick I learned. It didn't kill Osterman… Did you think it would kill _me_?"

Adrian scrambled to get up from his spot on the floor. It felt good to see him scuttle around in fear. He had finally backed himself into a wall.

"I've walked across the sun. I've seen events so tiny and fast they hardly can be said to have occurred at _all_, but _you_… You are a man… and the world's smartest man means no more to me than does its smartest termite."

Adrian's face became blank as he stared at Manhattan. But then he licked his bloody, dry lips and lifted his hand. There was a remote in it.

"What's that in your hand, Veidt? Another ultimate weapon?"

"Yes. Yes, you could say that." He whispered.

With a tiny click the wall behind him became alive with television screens, each picture showing vivid shots of mayhem, slaughter, destruction. Vaguely I hear Dan say something behind me but it is lost amongst the voices in the air.

"Scene here, utterly horrible, I can't describe…"

"Death toll in the millions-"

"From America. In New York, millions-"

"Similar devastation in Russia-"

"Doctor Manhattan-"

"The dead, the children. There are children, children… I can't go on. I'm sorry-"

"World leaders, responding to the tragedy-"

"From London, Mr. Healey sent a message of-"

"And news just in of a response from Russia-"

"From Russia the Kremlin issued a cautious bulletin-"

"Over two million-"

"Stated that in light of alarming developments-"

"Withdrawal from Afghanistan as soon as possible-"

"Immediate to end hostilities until we've evaluated this new threat to-"

"In complete confusion here-"

"An immediate summit in Geneva-"

"End to hostilities-"

"New York tonight, three million-"

"And end war in Afghanistan as a gesture of-"

"End the war-"

The pictures… they were horrible. Blood… bodies. Metal, rust, sewage, snow. There were craters in the cities. The blast knocked down buildings and structures that were miles away. It was like our world was thrown into a meat grinder. That city… that city was my home. Where I use to live… doesn't even exist anymore.

"I did it!" Veidt screamed.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the televisions. There was a woman stuck under a car. A man crying over the remains of his home and family. Dead dog. Teenage girl with only one eye. Pandemonium. Hurt. All these people… they were hurting.

"I saved the earth from hell. Next, I'll help her towards Utopia!"

I placed my head in my hands. Could this really be happening?

"Wait a minute… NEXT? After what you d-did? You can't get away with that!" Laurie declared through a river of tears.

"Can't get away with it? Will you expose me, undoing the peace millions died for? _Kill_ me, risking subsequent investigation?"

Oh my God. Oh my God. This is happening. We couldn't save those people. All those people…

"Morally, you're in a checkmate, like Blake."

I felt that familiar emotion explode inside of me. Thick, burning, vile tar turning my insides black. At the mention of Eddie's name, I threw myself at Adrian. When my fist was about in inch away from his face, a blue light enveloped me. For a moment, I thought I had died. When I could see again, I was back at my starting point. I screamed at Manhattan,

"Why did you do that? Are you with _him_!" I pointed towards Adrian.

Manhattan shook his head, "Logically, I'm afraid he's right… Exposing this plot, we destroy any chance of peace, dooming Earth to worse destruction." He turned towards the crying Laurie. "On Mars, you demonstrated life's value. If we would preserve life here, we must remain silent."

"Never tell anyone? W-we really have to buy this?" She was looking hopelessly for another option. We all were.

Dan clutched his mouth in horror. "How… How can humans make decisions like this? _We're_ damned if we stay quiet, _Earth's_ damned if we don't. We…Okay. Okay, count me in. We say nothing."

I clench my teeth at Dan, "You don't mean that." I desperately hiss at him. How could he say yes? How could he lie on his belly, wallow in the blood and remain silent. This is _wrong_.

Suddenly, Rorschach turned away from the group and started heading towards the exit. I went to follow him.

"Rorschach…? Rorschach, wait!" Dan called after him.

Abruptly, he stopped, causing me to nearly walk into him. He was waiting for Dan to finish what he meant to say, he didn't turn around and face him. I did it for him.

"We _have_ to compromise." Dan pleaded.

Rorschach was quiet for a moment before his hard voice whispered back, "Was always the difference between us. Never compromise. Not even in the face of Armageddon… Goodbye, Daniel."

We stepped through the door into the artic cold and Manhattan was there waiting for us.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"People must be told." Rorschach answered.

"This isn't right, Manhattan. Adrian can't get away with killing all those people. We're going back to New York."

Manhattan stood boldly before us. "You know I can't let you do that…" I blinked at him.

A low growl came from Rorschach as he removed his gloved hands from their pockets, "Of course. Must protect Veidt's new utopia."

"Rorschach. Don't." Dan warned from behind me. I had not even noticed he followed us out.

"One more body amongst foundations makes little difference." He answered Dan.

His gloved hands went upwards towards his head and ripped off his mask. Suddenly, Rorschach was gone and Walter was in front of us. A crying Walter. He clutched his hat and mask in one hand as he snarled at Manhattan.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Do it…"

Manhattan looked down at the ground and then back up at him

"DO IT!"

He lifts his blue hand.

The blood is bright in the unforgiving snow. Dan and I watch as Rorschach's hat flows softly to the ground. Dan finally breaks down. He cries angry tears and falls to his knees. I look up at the stoic figure of Dr. Manhattan. For a moment, I lose all thought. Barely able to register that Rorschach is dead. For some reason my mind goes to wondering why he took his mask off. Slowly I bend over and pick a piece of fabric from the ground.

In the face of death… he no longer wanted to be the symbol that he worked so hard for… He wanted to die as a _man_. This thought strikes me hard in the stomach. The fabric flutters from my hand. My eyes watch it fall.

"What… did you do?" comes my shaky whisper. My eyes return to Manhattan.

He blinks at us. His blue lips move softly, "I had to." Comes his apathetic voice.

"Had to?" I whisper. My body is shaking, but not from the freezing temperatures.

"THIS WAS NOT WHAT WE WERE SUPPOSE TO DO!" I cry out.

Holding it all back is too hard. I don't understand. I don't understand what the fuck was happening around me.

_Dead_. Killed by his friends. Rorschach was fucking _dead_.

Everything is tumbling out of control. What the fuck was happening?

"I cannot change human nature." Manhattan repeats.

We were not supposed to kill millions of innocent people… I've had to live everyday with the memories and pictured faces of every person I've killed … Babies, men, women, children… Now, this? I can't take it – can't take it.

I shake my head, "Who are you to _decide_ when life can or cannot end? Mankind will kill itself off eventually. This momentary peace means _nothing_. Those innocent people didn't have to die… You saw the TVs. You saw all that pain…" maybe I was yelling at a wall. What did Manhattan know of pain? Emotionally and physically.

"Rorschach didn't have to die…" I begin sobbing. That familiar long ache pulls through my body. Pulsates painfully at my fingertips. It hurts. It hurts more than the time I was shot through back. It hurts more than anything else in this world. And it will never go away.

"EDDIE DIDN'T HAVE TO DIE!"

Spit flies from my mouth as I scream this with horrible rage and misery. Shaking from my very core is the undeniable truth. Eddie is dead. Gone.

It all just felt like a bad dream. I was waiting for the moment when I'd wake up, and he'd be there next to me smoking his cigar. He would smile at me. I was waiting for that moment when I'd wake up, and he'd call me doll face again. I desperately hug myself, trying to pretend that they are his arms. But it's not him. I am alone… and so horribly cold. My body actually hurts. Hurts with loneliness, abandonment, and death.

I wish I never loved him. I wish I could have had a life without him. I wish I just remained apart. Alone. Never experienced his touch, his stare, his smile, his laugh.

But it isn't a dream. He isn't going to say doll face again. I won't ever feel him again. See him. But he will always be in my mind. My thoughts. My memories. My goddamn soul. Tormenting me. Tearing me apart. Destroying me in ways that are indescribable. I am not _me_ without him. How can I be? I'm just vacant. Half of what I should be.

The world is so full of promises but I don't want them.

I thought leaving him would make me happy. It didn't. I was never happy. I cut him out of my life and eventually forgot how he made me feel. I became a shell. Attending the funeral, I remembered… that feeling in my stomach I would get when he would hold me. That _ache_. That want. Not for carnal sexual desires but for _him_. To grab hold of him and to not let go. All I want is him. Only him. But he's gone from me. Gone. Forever gone.

I want to scream. Scream until my body rips apart. But there is nothing to scream out to. So I cry. The hot tears run down my face like a river. I am soaked. I am all alone.

_Forget about that stuff, you hear? Or else you'll become worse than a corpse. You'll be walkin' around dead on the inside._

I _am_ dead on the inside. How can this be happening? Please, let me wake up. Let Vietnam be a dream. Let all those people I murdered and saw killed only just a nightmare. Let my whole _life_ be a dream. Please, please! _God_!

Manhattan's pale eyes fall to the ground, unable to answer me. A man with the power to change unimaginable things… yet he wastes it.

"If you really cared about life, you would have made the right decision…" I whisper.

He looks back up to me. He can look straight through me with those ghost, godly eyes. It's like a world of wonder inside of them. A world I cannot even begin to imagine. Things wide and far beyond my comprehension, or anyone's comprehension. They stare and, this time, I stare fearlessly back.

"We were better off with out you." He says nothing in return, because perhaps he knew it was true. Manhattan changed the world. Changed everything. People weren't ready for that kind of change.

His quiet voice reaches my ears, "I have longed to understand… the fear people have for me. You, most of all, I couldn't understand. You did not fear me. You felt… contempt… A bitter anger towards me. Why?"

I clench my teeth, "You know why." I choke out.

Manhattan looked towards the bloody snow. "I cannot fix the world, or the people in it… I'm not… God…"

All the nerves are shooting to and from my brain. Yet, I feel so desolate and lifeless on the inside.

What am I suppose to fight for? What am I suppose to die for? Has my entire life amounted to nothing. Am I… nothing? Or am I meant for something? This foggy maze that I've stumbled through my entire life… where does it lead? Where does it end? There is no destiny. There can't be. I refuse to believe it.

I was not born to be a murderer, or turn into a goddamn psychopath. These were all made by my actions, my decisions. You think you mean something in this messed up world. You think you make a difference. Then, you realize it was all a fucking lie. Everything…

What's made a difference in my life? What has ever meant something to me?

For the first time, in a long time, there is clarity. It cools down my body. Cleans out my trembling. I finally know…

The only thing that has ever meant something to me… Eddie.

And it will always be Eddie. I would fight for him. I would die for him. I owe him everything. You find happiness in this world, however twisted and demented it may be, but it's happiness. You find a person that cares about you, and then that's it… I'll cling to it for everything I've got. I hated him and loved him at the same time… And Adrian… Adrian has taken that away from me. He is the reason I will never see Eddie again. He's the reason I will never hear the word 'doll face' in that low voice.

Adrian may have bought a five-minute world peace. But, he still killed Eddie. He still killed millions of people. In _my_ world, there is no escaping punishment. I don't know why I'm alive… or the _purpose_ of my life in this world… But I do know _how_ I'm going to die. It's in my hands.

My shell of a body runs with cold blood. From my belt, I slowly pull out a knife. Manhattan's white eyes flicker to my hand.

"Speziale…" Manhattan warns me.

It's silent between us. My breathing is soft and calm.

I'm ready. I'm finally ready.

"Doc… Look at me… My eyes are open."

Manhattan's lips move as if to say something, but nothing comes out.

"Q, what are you-" Dan doesn't get time to finish.

I pivot my body and run towards the entrance. My run is hard and fast with only one goal. I am light. I am strong. I am fearless. Behind my footsteps I leave the outside world. I hear Dan yell after me, but I pay no head. Entering the main chamber, I can see only him. Fair and pale. His blonde hair is messy from fighting. A frown pulled tightly on his face. There is fear in his liquid blue eyes as I bolt towards him. The shards of glass cracking beneath my boots.

A picture springs into my mind… How he stood beside us. In the rain. As we buried him.

As we buried _him_.

_Eddie_. He is all I think about as the blood pumps through my veins and my goal is so close. Adrian doesn't lift his arms to defend himself. It angers me even further. I think of all the people who hated Eddie. Of all the people he killed. How he cried in front of his arch-enemy. I think of how Adrian called him a nazi. I think of Eddie clinging desperately to my stomach.

It was never fucking fair. My life. Rorschach's life. Eddie's life. Our lives were dedicated to something above our own, and what did we get? Death. Killed by our friends.

With the knife held high, I lunge for him. I see beyond Veidt's wide eyes.

"JON!" he yells.

Eddie. Blown hair. Dark, unfathomable eyes. Ruddy, scarred face… He is lonely. So desolate and lonely, just like me and I am so _close_.

Then, there is only blue.

**das Ende**


End file.
